


Better Days

by ColorfulCrayola



Series: The Walker Chronicles [1]
Category: Transformers (Bay Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death Fix, F/M, First Movie, Friendship/Love, Gen, Giant Robots, Head Injury, Loss of Parent(s), Major Character Injury, Mild Blood, Mild Language, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Non-Graphic Violence, Original Character-centric, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, POV First Person, Revised Version, Robot/Human Relationships, Slow Build, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-23 10:10:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 105,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4872820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorfulCrayola/pseuds/ColorfulCrayola
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kathryn Walker is attempting to pick up the pieces of her shattered life following the tragic death of her parents. She never thought much about life after leaving her birth home, and is lost without her parents guidance. To top it all off, she's attacked by a mysterious police cruiser a month later. An alien robot posing as her car rescues her, only to promptly kidnap her afterwards. As it turns out, her parent's deaths might not have been an accident after all. For now, Kathryn is under the protection of the Autobot's first lieutenant, thrust into an intergalactic war because of something that happened almost a hundred years ago.</p><p>"I want to live better days, never look back and say 'it could have been me.'"</p><p>Playlist (in semi-order of relevance):</p><p>Heaven Knows - The Pretty Reckless<br/>Bittersweet Symphony - The Verve<br/>Stressed Out - Twenty One Pilots<br/>Pardon Me - Incubus<br/>Passenger - Trapt<br/>Movies - Alien Ant Farm<br/>Hero - Skillet<br/>Carry On - Avenged Sevenfold<br/>Immortals - Fall Out Boy<br/>Thread - Flyleaf<br/>Satellite - Rise Against<br/>So Far Away - Staind<br/>Better Place - Rachel Platten<br/>Could have been Me - The Struts</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not What it Was

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, readers! 
> 
> I've had this fanfiction for years, since the first movie came out. It's gone under a lot of revisions, and this is the most recent incarnation. The full fanfiction is posted on FF.net if you want to read the whole thing, but there will be some continuity errors, as I haven't finished revisions on the whole thing. As of today, 9/25/15, I only have chapters 1-3 revised to where I like them. I'll post the chapters in bundles as I finish them, and some will be easier than others to revise! 
> 
> As this is the first story in the series (I do plan on writing for all the movies), there isn't too much romance in it, and it will be a slow build. Hopefully there's enough fluff to tide everyone over! Thanks for reading, I welcome all kinds of comments, and they might even help me with some revisions! Hope you guys enjoy it. uwu
> 
> ~ Crayola

As soon as my eyes fluttered open to the grating sound of my alarm, I was already expecting too much from my day.

I expected to be greeted by the sound of dishes clinking in the sink and the smell of bacon sizzling on the stove. Maybe dim chatter wafting down the hall and past my closed doors; the sounds of life carrying on. Instead, when I put a stop to my chirping alarm, I was met with the resounding silence and vacancy. No dishes. No bacon. No voices.

Nothing.

My breath hitched in my throat and I rolled over to my back, covering my face with the palm of my hand.  _Don't cry. You've cried enough. You have no more tears._

A single deep breath held the waterworks at bay and I remained in bed for several more minutes, debating whether or not to go into work. They told me to take as much time as I needed, but I wanted to leave the house for a while. It was so. . .empty.

And I had sort of already called to tell them I'd come in.

Dragging myself out from bed was a chore in and of itself. Lead seemed to fill my limbs, but after a few tries I managed to sit up. Standing was another inconvenience, but I pulled it off before going about the drudgery that was my morning routine—showering, teeth-brushing, quick make-up, style my hair, and then pulling on my work clothes.

None of it would be enough to hide my swollen eyes, bloodshot around the green iris from days of crying. My concealer managed to hide the bags from fatigue, but that was it. I spent a moment practicing my smile, but couldn't remember how to make it look genuine.

It would have to do. Surely no one would expect anything more.

There was one thought on my mind as I walked through the hall and down toward the kitchen— _Breakfast. I should eat breakfast_.

However, my stomach had been filled with knots, leaving little room for food. I hadn't even been shopping in weeks and the first thing I found in the pantry was a half-empty box of Wheaties—Dad's favorite. Now, though, it would probably go stale. No milk to eat it with, anyway. A quick search through the rest of the cabinets produced similarly meager results.

"Wasn't hungry anyway," I muttered to the unoccupied kitchen.

Leaving would put me at work ten minutes early, but it was better than sitting in the empty house and doing nothing. After collecting my purse, I paused at the door to put on my shoes. A single picture frame hung over the door; I stood on my tippy toes, plucked it free of the nail, and tossed it face-down on the couch so I wouldn't have to look at the happy family's smiling faces.

 _My_  family's smiling faces.

Later when I returned home it would join the rest of the family pictures—boxed up and sitting in the garage.

Though summer was upon us, it had been chilly the past couple of days and always threatened rain without making good on it. I grabbed my jacket off the hook just in case it decided to bless us with a downpour, locked the house behind me, then headed to my car.

The Camry was sat in the driveway with its nose pointed to the garage door. Somehow, it mocked me with the way it held still and did nothing.

It had been so long since I had driven the damn thing myself. I had been terrified to even sit in the car for several days after the accident. Instead, neighbors drove me around or I let my visiting uncle sit in the driver's seat to act as my chauffeur. The realization that I would have to take up the steering wheel again wracked my nerves and the dread settled into my stomach like a stone.

That was a sentiment I needed to overcome, as I didn't have a ride to work. Now was as good a time as any, and the rate of car accidents inside Park City was so low—my parent's wreck had been the first one in a year, and the first fatal crash in well over five.

It was unlikely that I would be hit at all. After a fatal crash, everyone drove extra careful. I would just follow their lead and be defensive with my driving instead of offensive.

Still, I couldn't help the trembling as I approached my vehicle, key poised and ready to unlock the old set of wheels. It sat in patient silence until I climbed inside and shut the door behind me. I released the breath I hadn't known I'd been holding and settled into the seat.

"Okay, I can do this," I sighed.

The engine turned over without incident, coughing to life and vibrating as it idled. Something in the dashboard rattled but I hadn't been able to find out what it was, so it was a fact of life now; the sky was blue, Mary had a little lamb, and my dashboard rattled. It didn't seem to effect anything.

When the Camry didn't explode, I relaxed further and ran my hand over the steering wheel. The leather was rough under my hand, pieces of it peeling away. It reminded me that I needed to buy a cover for it, but that was another thing I was too lazy to go out and purchase. The shredding fabric over my head brushed against me and I started, waving it away with frantic hands.

You'd think after a million times it wouldn't still scare me.

Once everything with the house was settled and the funeral was paid for, I wouldn't have to endure the worn-out car much longer—I would be able to use the money from the insurance claim to buy a new car; trade in this piece of shit and have like, ten bucks of credit toward the new one.

Sighing, I settled back into the seat, checked my mirrors, and pulled out of the driveway.

"That wasn't so bad. . . ."

Now I would have to tackle driving on the freeway. Ugh.

My car's engine rumbled, as if in answer.

*:･ﾟ✧

Being on the interstate hadn't been as bad as I anticipated. There hadn't been any large semis, and I'd missed rush hour by thirty minutes. I parked under the usual tree and, despite the lack of people present at opening, walked up to the back exit.

Hoping someone was around, I banged on the heavy door and stepped back. It took two more sessions of knocking before my manager opened the door.

"Kathryn, hello. Are you okay to be here?" she asked, stepping aside to let me in.

"I'm fine."

Sharon gave me a concerned look as headed for the lockers and followed after me. She was maybe twenty years older than me, and any expression made the skin around her eyes crinkle.

I kept my mind focused on the task at hand—straightening my name tag and checking my hair in the mirror. Between my house and the bank I worked at, a wind had picked up and I needed to tuck the stray hairs back into my messy bun. Even though everything about me was as it should be, I didn't feel like myself yet. Being outside was refreshing, but I wasn't looking forward to dealing with customers and my coworkers all day.

Before, I  _enjoyed_  coming to do my job. I knew my fellow employees as friends and even the patrons who visited were well-known. Mom and I had worked there together, though, and now all of those things that I loved about working at the bank were suddenly heavy burdens. I didn't need my coworkers and the regulars bugging me about my mom's death.

But, it was either deal with everyone tiptoeing around me while I worked or sit alone in the house and try to keep my mind off the void my parents left behind.

Apparently, Sharon could see that.

"Kathryn, we told you to take as much time off as you needed. There's no rush. We've got your paid vacation time, all of the paid sick days you've accumulated, paid bereavement—you have at least a few more weeks," she reassured me.

It was the third time she'd said the exact same thing since I'd told her I was coming in.

I shook my head and forced a smile to my face. "I'm fine. I can't mope around that house any longer. I needed to get out."

She tilted her head slightly and sighed. "Kathryn. . .it hasn't even been a month yet. I'm sure you have things to go over with lawyers, spending time with your other family members, going through mail and who knows what else. . .it's rough, losing both parents at the same time. No one here expects anything from you. We all loved Julie and Kyle. We'll understand."

Their names brought another wave of emotions crashing down on me. I staggered and put a hand against my head before falling against the wall next to the break room's door. I closed my eyes, wanting nothing more than to sarcastically thank her for reminding me, but she was right.

On top of everything she mentioned, I still had to put the house up for sale, find somewhere to move to after all of that, and I had to figure out what I was going to do with my parent's effects. My extended family had already visited for the funeral and divvied up what they wanted—I had first pick, of course—but I was in possession of so many more clothes and knickknacks that I didn't know what to do.

Aside from donating, of course, which was looking more and more like my only choice. That, however, meant buying or finding boxes and packing everything, which I'd already started.

Part of the reason I had so many things was because there wasn't much family  _left_  to take the stuff. My grandparents on my mother's side were elderly and stuck in a retirement home, unable to even make the trip down from Wyoming. My dad's parents had already passed away five years ago and he had been an only child. The only other family I had were two uncles on my mom's side and all of their kids, also in Wyoming.

I couldn't help but feel a little bad about eyeing what my parents belongings while at the same time resenting my aunts and uncles for doing it as well. I'd thought of them as vultures.

It wasn't much—they had a big screen TV I would keep, all of the fine china Mom had collected, and of course most of the furniture as well as my dad's computer. My aunts and uncles had taken a few blankets, some pictures, and a few other oddments.

"Kathryn?" Sharon murmured, stepping up to me.

When I glanced over my shoulder, I was surprised by how close she was. I ran my hand over my hair while being careful not to misplace any strands. My eyes had started watering again, so I carefully brushed the tears aside without smearing my mascara.

"No," I said, squaring my shoulders and turning around to face Sharon. "Let me see how the day plays out."

Sharon nodded and offered her best reassuring smile. "Okay. But you can stop at any time and go home, alright? I'll put you on the drive-through if you want, to ease you back into work. Would that be okay with you?"

"Sure."

At least that would make it less likely for people to recognize me, which was a 100% chance if I was at the counter. My home town of Park City had a population less than a thousand, while Laurel—where I worked—had nearly seven thousand. Everyone who was a regular at my bank knew Mom and I on a personal level.

Which meant they all had something to say about the accident.

It was better that I remained anonymous at the drive-through. Well, semi-anonymous.

However, I became aware in a very short time that I had underestimated how observant my patrons could be.

Early morning customers started to roll in on their way to work or whatever errands they had to run for the day and I took a few deep breaths to steady myself. Maybe I should have stood at the front counters instead—not many people came inside until early afternoon. It might have been less busy.

The third customer pulled up and I glanced up from my computer out the heavily-tinted window, recognizing the elderly lady in the car but unable to recall her name.

She fumbled in her purse for a moment, then called for help. I pressed the microphone button for her chute and smiled. Mom always said you could hear a smile in someone's voice. "Good morning and welcome to United Bank NA, how can I help you today?"

"Yes, hello! I would like to make a withdrawal."

I nodded even though she couldn't see. "Of course, will you need a slip?"

"Please. I thought I had one but I can't find it." The woman had pulled up a little too far from the chute and was hanging out her window. It seemed like it would have been easier to open the door, but whatever worked for her.

"I'd be happy to send you one. One moment, please."

There was a pause in conversation while I picked out the correct form and placed it in the capsule. The silence extended until she received it through the tube. She fumbled with it, then my speaker lit up again and I leaned to listen.

"Thank you, dear. Is this Kathryn Walker, by any chance?"

For a split second I thought about lying, but it was a split second too late. "Yes, why?"

"I heard about the accident, I'm so sorry about your mother. I always came to her when I needed to see a banker," the woman said. "I only spoke with your father a couple times, but he seemed like a very nice man."

My throat tightened and I fought to swallow tears. "Thank you, that means a lot."

She filled out her withdrawal slip and sent it back so I could process it. The entire time she jabbered away about her pleasant talks with Mom, stopping only when I sent her the cash.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" I made an effort to keep my voice even.

"No, dear. I hope you feel better soon."

"Thank you for banking with us," I murmured.

I stood as she left, holding myself together by threads, and knew I wasn't able to pull this off. I glanced at the counters to see which teller was free and approached him. "James I need you take over for me for a little bit, please."

His mouth formed an unspoken complaint that was quashed the second he saw me. "Oh, sure thing." He logged off his computer and scurried to the drive-through controls.

"Thank you."

With that, I made a bee-line for the break room. I pushed past the door and braced myself against the back wall. I knocked off a notice pinned to the corkboard but left it on the floor and instead tried to catch my breath. The tears threatened to break through my careful barriers, but I brushed them aside as soon as they breached—wary of my mascara.

A few minutes later, when I had finally composed myself and replaced the notice, a soft hand brushed my shoulder and I turned sharply to see Sharon. She pulled her hand back and smiled, chagrined.

"Sorry," I muttered, sniffing and fretting over my hair.

"Take some more time. We won't think any less of you." Her smile was warm and she tilted her head to the side. "You need to take care of yourself first and foremost, and then in another couple of weeks you can come on back to work. We can start you slow—part-time hours for a while, move you back up into full-time when you're ready. . . ."

Fighting to straighten up, I shook my head before forcing a smile. "No—no just a couple more weeks, then I can jump back in to full-time. I'll need the hours and. . . I'll need the distraction."

Sharon's mouth opened a closed a few times as she fought to find a decent counter argument but she thought better of it and nodded. Sighing, she said, "Yeah, that's fine. Two more weeks, then give me a call, okay?"

I nodded and took a breath. "Alright, then you have a deal." After taking a few more breaths I approached my locker to retrieve my belongings. I didn't know what I was going to do for the rest of the day besides call realtors—maybe figure out if it was easier to sell the house myself. More phone calls. There always seemed to be people to talk to about one thing or another.

"Certainly," Sharon assured me, seeing me out of the room once I'd clocked out.

Once again I left through the back door to avoid being see by anyone and dealing with the customers. I'd managed to stay in work for an hour and a half, so more and more customers that I knew were starting to file in. Sometimes the camaraderie that came from living in a small town was nice. Everyone was ready to help out when they knew all their neighbors.

But that also meant knowing the people who had killed your parents.

Carla and Lloyd Richards worked at the tiny convenience store in town. They had been going out to lunch and supposedly they lost control of their car for— _no apparent reason_. Even though the mechanic who looked at our cars said there was nothing wrong with their SUV, when Mom and Dad turned that corner the Richards veered and slammed into them.

Their exact words: "Of its own accord."

At least they'd had the common courtesy not to show up at the funeral after that weak excuse. As if they could claim such a thing when there was nothing wrong with their vehicle. Not even a dent or a tiny scratch.

I couldn't say as much for my parents or their car.

My parent's Monte Carlo was fucked up beyond all recognition; it hadn't stood a snowball's chance in hell against the Richards' Escalade, and that was the only reason why  _they_  lived while my parents wound up  _dead._  Mom didn't make it out of the vehicle, Dad hadn't made it out of surgery. Meanwhile, Carla and Lloyd were suffering from some neck and back pain.

It made me feel guilty, but part of me was  _glad_. It was maybe the first grudge I'd ever held in my entire life.

Even if they swore up and down it wasn't their fault, I blamed them. Oh did I ever. Lose control of their car—my lily white ass. They hadn't been paying attention, nothing else. It might not have been a malicious intention, but they should have been charged with negligence and I hoped their licenses were revoked for the next eight hundred years.

At least they were held responsible up to an extent. The investigation was still pending, and slow-going; nothing like this happened often in Park City and the police had to come from Laurel to make any headway.

Their insurance had paid out the cost of the car, but that was it—the Richards' didn't have full coverage on their insurance and my parents didn't have life insurance.

That was all the money I was getting out of the accident, unless I wanted to sue them for every penny they had. However, I felt like that was out of the question—not when there was a chance everyone in the town  _and_ the next one over would hate me for the rest of my life.

On top of that, they worked at a convenience store, so it wasn't like they were rolling in cash to begin with. If I did sue, I would never see that money and they would be destitute for life.

So, I took the insurance money for the totaled vehicle and cut my losses.

Those thoughts fueled me out the door. If I held on to the anger, then there wasn't enough room for the grief. If there was no room for grief, I couldn't cry.

Once outside, I reeled backwards and leaned against the building with my hand on my brow. I couldn't let an old couple or an old lady cause such turmoil.

When I recovered enough to go to my car, I was surprised to realize it wasn't where I left it. I could have sworn I'd parked it under the same tree I always did, but it was in a different spot—across the parking lot on the complete opposite side. I stared at it for a few moments, wondering if I was so out of it that I couldn't remember where I had parked.

After a few seconds of looking around in confusion I shook my head and marched onward.

_You're going crazy with grief._

I'd had my off-white Toyota Camry since I was seventeen. It had about a million miles on it, but despite that it was pretty reliable save for a few necessary tune-ups and oil changes. The thing had been my mom's when she had started dating my dad, so it wasn't without problems, but no major repairs had been needed so far. At least nothing that broke the bank.

I adjusted the loose rear-view mirror like I always did, working on auto-pilot while my mind raced around to a million different places. My mom had once sat in this seat years ago, and though I had planned to buy a new car with the insurance money, I found it harder than ever to let go of it.

There was plenty of other sentimental things in the house I could choose from, but as I sat in the Camry and thought about Mom, I was appalled that I ever wanted to sell the thing.

"Just your emotions talking," I muttered. The Camry was ancient and I'd been saving up for a new car for a while. It was the best time to upgrade—but I would hold on to it for a little while. Until I had time to settle down. That was the plan.

To insure I wasn't going to crash due to an emotional break-down, I turned the music up high and drove slowly.

At least I-90 wasn't very busy in late morning, so it was only a thirteen minute drive back to the house instead of twenty minutes. It seemed like I'd been born in that place, so knowing I had to sell it made my throat run dry.

It wasn't right! I was only twenty-two years old. I had so much to do, and my parents were supposed to see it. I was supposed to get married and they were  _supposed_  to be there, in the front row, and my father was  _supposed_  to walk me down the aisle. I was supposed to have kids, and they were  _supposed_  to be there to spoil them.

I had plans to move out of state—maybe go work for a big chain bank in California. Go to school for. . .something, and find a real career. Without my parents around, though, I wasn't sure what I could do. What I wanted to do. If I could even have a life outside of the town anymore.

If I was even able to be an actual adult.

Now I felt more stuck than when they'd been alive.

However, I knew the feeling would pass. Once it had all blown over, once I sold the house and straightened out their estate, I would be able to move out. I  _had_  to move. I was not about to live in my childhood home without my parents, or in that town with their murderers.

Oh, sorry,  _accidental_  murderers.

For three years I'd been saving money to move out and rent my own place. The sad irony was, even though I had the opportunity now, I had to pay for the funeral and the hospital bills and the small amount of credit card debt we had racked up. My parents weren't poor, but it would be a little while before the lawyers could sort out who received what.

And the lawyers—there was another fee I was going to have to pay.

Playing the music didn't work. My mind kept wandering back to everything going  _wrong_ in my life. Tears threatened to fall and I wiped them away so they wouldn't obscure my vision.

Somehow, though, I pulled into my driveway without incident. Or remembering what turns I took. Or why it had only taken eight minutes to drive home when it should have been twice that. I had thought for sure I'd been driving slower. . . .

Confused and distraught, I sat in the Camry for a few minutes while I composed myself, drawing comfort from the idle vibrations and warmth of the seat.

"I'm going crazy," I said, leaning my forehead against my steering wheel.

Finally, when I deemed myself calm, I locked up the car and made my way inside. My purse was tossed on one end of the couch, my jacket draped over the back of it, and I locked the door behind me. There was stuff I had to do, and I flicked through my mental checklist.

Call lawyers.

Call realtors.

Box up more stuff.

Eat something. Maybe.

However, once inside, I didn't do any of those. Instead, I saw fit to move the picture from that morning and face-plant on the couch, business suit and everything. I stayed like that for several minutes, one leg hanging over the side and face buried in the cushions. Eventually my body reminded me of the need to breathe and I rolled to my side.

The better half of my judgment told me to remove myself from the couch and change out of my work clothes. I pushed myself up and went to my room to undress.

Only a few things were different in that room in all my years of living there—My twin bed had been replaced with a queen about two years ago. I'd repainted the ugly pink walls into a dark maroon after high school, and the posters of boy bands had been replaced with a calendar and a big movie poster for Skyline the theater in Laurel had gifted me.

I'd wanted to move out at twenty, but I hadn't quite pulled my life together by then. It was a miracle I'd even been hired, since I'd decided not to attend college after graduation. Mom had already had a job at the bank, so I'd weaseled my way in as a teller. I would have to go to special classes if I wanted to be a real banker like Mom had been. It wasn't hard work, and the people were nice, so it was a pretty decent first job straight out of high school.

Dad had offered me a position at his job working for the government, but he travelled so much and was gone sometimes for weeks. I hadn't thought I'd enjoy being away from home and living in hotels like that.

Thought I'd asked, he never did explain why we didn't move closer to his work. Mom had always been fine with it, but he'd insisted we stay in Park City—one-horse town extraordinaire.

Once I was in some street clothes, I sat down in the living room and looked at my phone, staring at the contacts. I still hadn't taken my parents' numbers out. Their names sat there, and I thought about calling them to listen to the voicemail, but I knew that wouldn't do any good, just make things worse.

Besides that, I had already called the phone company to let them know that they wouldn't be using the service anymore, so chances were I'd hear an automated message telling me the line was no longer in service. I was thankful that I wouldn't need to pay an early contract termination fee on top of everything else: the company had been very understanding.

Tossing my phone to the side, I put my head in my hands and tried to clear my mind of all thoughts. That lasted for a few seconds, and then I turned on the TV and left it on the channel that popped up.

An hour-long episode had passed before I decided to be productive.

The crime drama that had been playing was replaced by a movie. I left it on that channel and moved from the couch over to the ancient desktop computer in the corner of the room. I couldn't wait until I was able to ditch the dinosaur and take my dad's newer computer he used for work. I probably could have done it at any time, but I felt like it would make his office feel more empty. The thought made my stomach twinge, but I knew I had to move past it.

When I finished packing up everywhere else and might start on his office, I'd switch out the computers and add the dinosaur to the pile of stuff that I needed to sell.

If anyone would even buy a computer ten years old.

How was I going to pull that off? A yard sale? That seemed like the only reasonable method, but something about having a bunch of strangers needling at my parents' things rubbed me the wrong way, but whatever cash I made from it would help with everything.

It was too much to think about. I had to do it one step at a time.

After a few frustrating tries at coaxing the desktop to start, I worked up the courage to move into Dad's study and use that computer to look up house-selling tips.

The world didn't collapse, so I decided to use it more often.

*:･ﾟ✧

Staying cooped up in the house wasn't an option for me. Ever since I was little there was never  _not_  a time that I didn't have something to do. Whether it was playing with friends, going to school, cheerleader practice (I wasn't great at it so I'd quit before high school), homework, or my job; I always had  _something_ to occupy my time.

The last month was almost worse than torture. If I wasn't meeting with the lawyers or trying to pull together some semblance of a funeral, I had nothing to do. Work wouldn't take me and some days I just didn't feel like going outside at all.

The boredom was taking its toll.

I was going to come down with cabin fever if I didn't figure out something. Work had been my last ditch effort, and that had fallen flat.

Even though it pained me so, the most obvious thing seemed to be to go to the grocery store and stock up. I hadn't gone at all since the accident, instead buying my essentials from the gas station down the street from me—milk, water, some snacks to keep me from starving. . . .

But I could only stall the inevitable for so long.

Carla and Lloyd were the last people on Earth I wanted to see, but there was only one real grocery store in town, though it wasn't even that—just a convenience store. Sure there was Wal-Mart in the next town over, but I hated driving all the way out there. I usually preferred driving to the local stores and supporting the little people, since my town was made up of little people. But maybe I could make an exception this one time and drive back to Laurel.

Because I sure wasn't ready to forgive those two. I might not ever.

It took a few minutes for me to psyche myself up for the trip and put on my sneakers. Then I grabbed my car keys hanging on the doorknob from my lanyard, and went outside.

No turning back now.

My drive out to the grocery store was spent giving myself a pep-talk. I kept the radio down low while the stupid commercials played, hands at ten and two, eyes straight forward.

"You need more food. There isn't even any  _good_  cereal. Or milk. You've lost weight. Gotta keep eating. . .really splurge yourself and buy something with some substance. Maybe a steak, how hard can steak be to cook, really? You'll figure it out. You have the internet," I muttered to myself.

Maybe they wouldn't even be there.

The turn came. I was a block away and my eyes darted to the small building with the big  _Kwik Stop_  sign on top. If it wasn't here, we'd have to drive out to our neighboring town for anything.

Besides not having a few things like a bank, we were a pretty self-sustained little town. Park City didn't have much in the terms of entertainment, though. It was one of the only reasons why my friends and I didn't start much trouble in high school—there was literally nothing to  _do_  to wind up in trouble.

Well there was the casino but we weren't allowed anywhere near that when we were in school. They'd see us coming a mile away and have security ready to throw us out before we even reached the door. If we wanted to entertain ourselves we had to make our own fun. Once we could drive, though, we would head over to nearby towns for parties.

I reached the turn and I flicked on my indicators. There was a tightness in my chest, and when the moment came—I turned off my blinker and stayed straight.

The wheel jerked in my hands as if attempting to make the turn, but I brushed it off as a muscle spasm from the stress. However, in the same breath, a strange sound made me turn my attention to the dash board. I dialed the radio down to absolute silence and stared for a second, still glancing up at traffic, and tried to listen for the sound again. It had been like a groan, like there was a strain on my axles or something, but I didn't hear it again despite my attempts to replicate it.

"Don't break down on me now," I sighed, turning instead into the Smoken Antlers BBQ Café.

I guessed I was going to have to drive the twenty minutes to Laurel and do all of my shopping there—but the next day. Already I had done enough to feel proud of, though I didn't normally like going somewhere and eating alone. There would be plenty of people in there to keep me company, whether I liked it or not.

In a town of only 800-some-odd people, you were never really  _alone_ , even if you felt like everyone you knew was gone.


	2. Face the Day

I woke up the next day to my ringtone. I'd gone to bed late that night after watching television for hours and hours. Who knew what time it was.

The phone was always kept next to my pillow where my alarm could easily wake me up, and the ringer—a small sound clip from the  _Star Wars_  movies—startled me out of my slumber. Groaning, I rolled over and slid my hand under my pillow, fishing around for it.

At some point it had fallen off my bed and was sounding off from between the mattress and the wall. It took some doing, but I pulled it out.

For a moment I stared at the phone's screen, blinking the sleep from my eyes and attempting to read the caller ID until it came into focus: Marie. I murmured incoherently and wiped some drool from my mouth.

Rolling back over, I slid my finger across the screen and put the Android to my ear, and my other hand on my forehead. "Hello?"

"You awake?"

"Now I am."

"Oh, sorry girl. I was just calling to check up on you. It's like, almost ten in the morning anyway you should get up and greet the day!" She sounded as chipper as usual.

_Ugh. Morning people._

"I'm doing fine. You're right, though, I should probably get up."

Let's forget the fact that I didn't have anything to do.

"There you go! What are your plans for today?" she asked. I could hear her rummaging around and fussing over her one-year-old baby. She had rushed to marry her high school sweetheart and start a family. The kid was cute, though. I had to give her that.

"I have to meet with a realtor in like two or three hours. Probably just going to straighten up and clean until she arrives. How's little Mikey?" I asked. As if reacting to his name, he started to whine. I can't imagine he'd heard me through the phone, though. Unless Marie had me on speaker, and that was a possibility.

"Great! He's been fussy lately, but with his first birthday coming up we're super excited! You'll come to the party, right?"

"Sure. When's the party?"

"His birthday is August eighth, so we'll have his birthday the weekend after! Will that be enough time? If you can't make it that's fine I'll totally understand."

August. I checked the date on my phone. It was about a month away, give or take.

"I'll be there. You know he won't remember it, right?"

"Oh I know! It's more for me and Daddy, isn't it my little peanut?" I assumed she was talking to the baby and not to me.

"Well so long as you know."

"How hard do you think it'll be to sell the house?" she asked. Mikey continued making baby noises in the background.

"Well I'm not sure. This is a tiny town. I'm sure everyone who needs a house already has one," I muttered. I finally decided to crawl out of bed so I sat up, yawned, and stretched my back. It popped in a few places and relief washed through me.

Marie scoffed. "Oh please. Someone's always looking for a nicer house or more room or a different location. I bet someone will buy it!"

"Maybe."

"Don't be so negative."

I stood up and headed to the kitchen for another food hunt destined for failure, since I never went to the store the day before. Today had to be the day I went to the Kiwk Stop. I would try again, and if not, I'd just go to Wal-Mart. "Yeah I'll try. Only because you told me to."

"Good! Where do you think you'll move? You could come live with me and the hubby! Our lease is up in November, we could get an apartment together!" she suggested.

"Really?" I asked, stalling. While she ranted about how awesome it would be, I thought about waking up to a crying baby at all hours of the night. Not to mention moving out to Bozeman where her husband went to Montana State University. I was sure I could find a job. . . .

". . . transfer to the bank here!" she finished.

First I nodded, then I realized she couldn't see and said, "Yeah, I'll definitely think about it. Maybe you could look around and let me know if there's an apartment we could all afford."

"For sure I will!"

"Sounds good to me."

"Now, I have to feed little peanut here, so I'm gonna go. You keep hanging in there, okay girly?" Her endless cheer never ceased to amaze me. Maybe she thought it'd make me feel better.

It didn't.

"I will. Give him a tickling for me, okay?" I forced a smile so she'd stop pestering me.

"I sure will. Anything to hear him laugh. Good luck with the house!"

"Thanks. Have a good day."

"You too, bye!"

"Bye." I took the phone from my ear to hang up, but Marie beat me to it and the call dropped seconds later. I sighed and put my phone on the counter so I could feed myself. Or attempt to.

It wasn't often that I cooked real meals, not when I could just pour cereal and milk into a bowl and get on with my life. If my mom wasn't cooking something, my diet consisted mostly of salads, fruits, macaroni and cheese, the occasional hamburger, TV dinners, and hotdogs. Up until this point in my life, I hadn't needed to really cook. My mom handled the meals and sometimes I helped out. Now I had nothing but an empty fridge and dry Wheaties.

In one foul swoop, I was thrust into single adult life without any preparation.

I'd always had my parents around, and now I didn't have so much as a fish to keep me company. I could handle the monthly bills coming up, but the mortgage was more than I wanted to pay for rent so that was going to be a chunk of cash I didn't want to spend. I could afford it because of the insurance money and what I had saved, but that didn't mean I  _wanted_  to afford it.

But more than the feeling of sudden fiscal responsibility, I was  _lonely_. I didn't have anyone to come hang out with me because Marie was hundreds of miles away, and she was one of the only friends I'd stayed in contact with after high school.

No friends, no parents, no boyfriend, no pet. . .only me.

It wasn't for lack of trying. Boys came and went, but I could never commit to any of them. I wasn't the type to just settle for the first person who came sniffing, and my high standards usually chased off potential suitors. I'd had a few boyfriends in high school and I'd hooked up a few times at parties, but nothing permanent.

All of the friends I'd hung out with had really been Marie's. We got along, but usually we weren't interested in the same things. After we'd graduated, they'd all moved on to bigger and better things or had taken up their parents' careers—like me.

Without Marie to invite me to hang out, I never spoke to anyone. Outside of Facebook, anyway.

There were, of course, the empty expressions of grief offered by those still left in town. They came in droves, offering comfort and other such platitudes.

Some guys from high school showed up as well, but I  _assumed_  they were trying to take advantage of my compromised emotional state and I sent them all away. Sometimes I wished I hadn't, but hooking up at this point in my life wasn't a good idea.

Hunger made me push my thoughts aside. I was going to give myself an aneurism if I kept worrying about that stuff. Things would get better when I moved out.

That was what I kept telling myself.

I sat down on the couch with my bowl of dry-ass cereal in my lap, picking up the Wheaties and chewing on them without tasting. I flicked the TV on to the first crime show I could find and sat back to watch and eat Dad's bland cereal.

*:･ﾟ✧

The last hour of my mope-fest through the house was spent straightening and cleaning everything. I'd done it before the funeral, but that had been almost a month prior. Dust gathered quickly and it took the whole hour to get everything in tip-top shape. The only room I really had to organize was my own, the rest was regular housekeeping—even then it was surfaces and not knick-knacks.

Why bother dusting their shit? I was going to pack it up anyway to donate or sell.

In the end I had half an hour before my appointment with the realtor. I used it to shower and change out of my pajamas—nothing too fancy, a fitted shirt and my nicest pair of jeans. I put my hair up in the messy bun I liked and tossed on some makeup.

I went over the notes I wrote—Jennifer was the realtors name, and she would be coming from Laurel. Then again, everyone came from Laurel if they weren't from Park City.

The doorbell rang and I started. Sighing, I put a hand over my heart, then checked the time. She was almost ten minutes early. Great. All the same, I managed to smile when I opened the door. Jennifer was grinning ear to ear and wore a sharper-looking suit than I thought was necessary for someone who sold houses.

"Hello, this is the Walker residence, right?"

"Yes, I'm Kathryn."

"Well hello! My name's Jennifer, we spoke on the phone yesterday? I'm here to have a look at your house." She extended her hand for me to shake. "I realize I'm early, traffic was better than I expected it to be today."

At noon, I could believe it.

With a smile I shook her hand, then stepped aside so that she could come into the house. We didn't have a porch, just a single stair up to the house and a short walk-way from the sidewalk. "It's alright. Please, come inside."

Jennifer nodded and then her smile faded the slightest bit. "I wish I was here on happier terms, though. I'm sorry to hear about your parents' passing."

I politely smiled and closed the door once she was inside. "Thank you. It's been hard."

"I can imagine. I'll try to make this as painless as possible. It'll be easy—we'll just walk through the house, I'll look around and then once we're done, I'll give you an estimate of how much I think we can ask for. Then I can schedule an appointment with a professional who will come through and look at the structure and the wiring and tell us if everything is up to code! If there's no repairs to be made, then we can get a better idea of how much you can expect for the house," she explained.

"So there's not a whole lot for me to do?" I asked.

She shook her head. "Nope! You won't even have to move out until it's sold if you don't want to. We'll just schedule people to have a look around, and you can go out and have dinner or something!"

"Is the market even any good out here?" I asked skeptically. I had the curtains drawn back to let the sunlight in. No use wasting electricity now that I had to pay for it.

Jennifer stood in the middle of the living room and turned in a circle. "Oh it's fine! People are always looking for a small town to retire to, or to raise a family in. Your parent's house is of decent size, too, so it's perfect for people in town who are getting ready to start a family."

"Oh. Good, I was kinda worried." Though it sounded like she had practiced that particular line over and over again.

"No need! So, shall we have a look around?"

I gestured toward the hallway and led her to the different parts of the house. Usually when we had guests over I wasn't ever alone, and now walking through it with a stranger was a little weird.

Everything was in its place. The computer, the large TV, shelves with board games. . . . Their bed was made perfectly in their room. I noticed only a few things that I had missed, but if Jennifer noticed or cared she didn't let on so I slipped behind her to pick up some wrappers or other bits of trash that I had forgotten to toss, as well as the picture frame I'd left on the couch.

If only I'd taken the trash out to the curb, but it was too late.

Somehow I managed to keep my cool in front of Jennifer, though several times I had to carefully wipe away stray tears as I reminisced certain memories. She had a little notebook that she wrote in for the duration of the tour. When I asked, she said it was for highlights she could use to sell it.

"Let's have a look at the backyard!" she chirped, allowing me to lead her out.

Grimacing, I let her go out in front of me and we stood on the back porch looking out over the yard. It wasn't hot enough for the grass to turn brown yet, but there were a few patches scattered across the lot.

"Sorry," I sighed, motioning in front of me. "I tried to mow but I couldn't get the lawnmower to work and we haven't actually watered the back yard in years. All Mom did was maintain that mini-garden you saw in the front. The fence was restored a few years ago, though, so. . .we've got that going for us I guess."

Before our family dog had died years ago, he'd chewed a hole in the fence to visit neigbors.

Jennifer waved an errant hand by her head. "Don't worry about it, people care more about the size than the way it looks. They can always fix it up themselves."

I nodded. "Maybe I'll pay the neighbor kids to mow it for me before we put it up."

"That would be a good idea! What's the shed for?"

When I followed her gaze to the storage shed sheltered under our single tree, I had to think for a few moments what was in it. "The lawnmower is in there. . .has some gardening tools, I guess. Mostly it's full of spiders and wasps, probably."

"Aren't they all?" Jennifer chuckled, motioning for us to head back inside.

Eventually we came upon the door to our garage. I opened it and turned on the light. "Not much in here right now. Mostly boxes."

"Single-car garage, pretty standard. Why don't you park yours in here?"

Shrugging, I said, "I don't know. Mom and Dad always parked theirs in here, and now it's being filled up with boxes as I sort through their things. We all refuse to go into the attic so our old photo albums and my baby stuff is in here, too. I'm fine parking on the driveway. Easier, I think."

She glanced through it once more and then marked a few things down. "Great! Let's take a look at the rest, shall we?"

While she headed inside, I lingered to look at the treadmill my dad had bought one year. He'd used it for three months and then ditched it without an excuse. My uncle had shown interest in it, but had no way of taking it home.

So it was on the list of things to be sold.

It only took forty-five minutes to go over the whole house, then we were back in the living room, standing behind the loveseat and staring at each other.

"So, what do you think?" I asked, rubbing my fingers together.

Jennifer wrote another little note in her pad and looked around, taking in a deep breath. "I think it's a beautiful house. I honestly don't think we'll have any trouble selling it. I wish it was on better circumstances, but yes. You've got a real nice piece of land here."

"That's great. How much do you think?"

She took out a little folder from her bag and flicked through the papers. "Well, based on location, size, the state of the house from what I've seen—I think you're looking at a minimum of 125."

"Thousand?"

"Of course, silly!"

I smiled and put my hand against my chest. I honestly didn't know much money that was in the grand scheme of things, but it  _sounded_  like a lot. "Oh wow."

"Yes! That's just a low-ball. Once I set up the appointment with the contractor to come in and have a look around for code violations—which I didn't see any with just a quick glance—then I can get to calculating exactly how much we can ask for."

"That's great. Was there anything else you needed to see today?"

Jennifer looked through her folder again and pursed her lips. "Mm—no I don't think so! I got all of the highlights and features I need for a listing description so I think we're good for the day. I hope I didn't hold you up."

"Oh no, I didn't have a much in the way of plans today."

"Great. Then I'll call you when I know when we can get a contractor out here, okay?"

I nodded and opened the door for her. "Yes, please do. I'll look forward to your call."

"Thanks again. Talk to you soon!"

"Yup, have a good one." I lifted my hand in a small wave and stood in the doorway for a second, waiting for her to leave. When her car pulled away, I closed the door and leaned my forehead against it.

She'd thrown that number at me like it was nothing. I didn't know much, and I imagined I wouldn't be seeing that kind of money right away even if it sold, but it still seemed like a lot. Would it go toward what mortgage was left? Would I see any of that money? I had so many questions, but I doubted that I would be  _handed_  that kind of cash.

Well, I would be happy with anything I could get.

Being an adult was still new to me. I was going to have to learn quick how the world worked now that my parents weren't around to take care of me. Even if I only saw some of the money, that would still be more than I had.

It would be enough to move out, as a first step. Start over somewhere new. Maybe even have a better life than I did.

My stomach rumbled and I wandered over to the kitchen. It was almost one in the afternoon and I had eaten a late breakfast, but cereal wouldn't keep me full. I rummaged through the pantries and found fixings for peanut butter and jelly, but no bread. I had half a pack of cheese, but nothing to go with it. I closed the fridge and wandered back to my living room.

_Just go to the store. Even if it is Wal-Mart. Just go._

Sighing, I sat down and turned on the television. Maybe first I would watch some TV. Unwind from the meeting with the realtor. However, fifteen minutes in and my stomach was reminding me that I needed to eat, so I stood up and moved into the kitchen again. I opened the fridge like it would magically refill itself, but was disappointed to find that it was just as empty as it had been before.

Eh. Cheese would have to do.

When I returned to the couch, I had the half a pack of cheese in my hand and ate the rest of that. I watched two episodes of some CSI knock-off before the hunger really started to cripple me.

"Fine. . . I'll go," I muttered to myself, turning everything off and slipping into my shoes.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I marched outside. I locked the door behind me and headed out to where my car was waiting for me.

I stopped short and stared at it for a while. It was backed into the driveway instead of facing forward. My mouth fell open only slightly and I looked around, keys cutting into my palm, and tried to make sense of it all. Had I really parked like that when I got back from the restaurant? I closed my eyes and pressed the heel of my hand against my forehead. I had been so sure, but now the memory seemed hazy and I couldn't recall.

Eyes closed, I took a deep breath, then opened them. "You're not crazy, you're not crazy."

Another sigh. "She said, speaking to herself like a crazy person."

My car was still sitting there in the driveway, silent and waiting, when I opened my eyes. I shook my head and climbed inside. More than likely I was a little crazy, but it would get better. I wasn't sleeping well. Once my schedule went back to normal, my mental health would, too.

The car started without issue and drove as it always did, rattle and everything—so I chalked it up to my theory of not sleeping enough.

Well, nothing left but to go to the store.

"For real, this time," I whispered to myself. I was feeling like fries for dinner, anyway. Maybe I'd even buy something to go with the fries.

Like soda.

I shook my head. I couldn't live off of sides and soda. I would buy TV dinners, some fruits and veggies, bread, and deli meat for sandwiches. I could learn to cook—that was what the internet was for. Mom's recipe book was still above the fridge, and how hard could those be to follow?

Yes, I could do this. I could be an adult. I  _was_  an adult. I had a job, money, I helped pay the bills sometimes and I called the doctor's office on my own all the time.

Cooking would be no problem.

Facing the Richards wouldn't be a problem. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of knowing how horrible they'd made my life.

Satisfaction? What was I thinking? They hadn't killed my parents to spite me. They hadn't even  _meant_  to kill my parents. There had to be too much salt in my diet for me to be filled with such thoughts. They didn't want to hurt me. They probably felt awful.

Maybe I'd be happy with them feeling sorry for me for a little while, but not forever.

Resolve hardened in my chest and I pulled out of the driveway. I didn't need to go all the way to Wal-Mart. Whatever I need could be found at the. . .tiny local store. . . .

Oh yeah. Wal-Mart had more food than the convenience store.

It would be better to go to Wal-Mart, wouldn't it? Then I could buy a whole bunch of groceries and never have to go to  _any_  store for a long time. Yeah, that seemed like a better plan. Maybe, to prove to myself that I could do it, I'd stop by the Kwik Stop to grab the soda and some snacks. That would work. Hit two birds with one stone!

Never mind that I'd never been shopping by myself. Usually I went with Mom when she make the trek to the store. The closest I'd come to doing my own shopping was stopping somewhere to pick up a drink for work.

How hard could it be, though? You show up, decide what you wanted to eat, put it in the cart, then exchange money for the goods.

Simple.

I took a deep breath, steadied my nerves, then pulled out of the driveway. Of all the things I could do, this was something I could do the most. I had a plan, and now all I had to do was execute it. Kwik Stop first, then Wal-Mart.

Show time.


	3. Afraid

I knew the streets of Park City like the back of my hand. How long each light remained red, how fast I needed to drive to hit all the green lights, and when to give up and accept my lot in life if I  _did_  hit a red light, because if that was the case then I would be stopped at them all.

This time when the turn came up, I was resolved to make it. However, in the end, I pulled into a parking space and found no signs of the Richards' car anywhere.

They weren't even at work today.

A gust of air left me and I leaned back, closing my eyes. "I'm a giant idiot," I sighed.

Well, it would make the whole thing easier. I wasn't going to go back on my plan now. I gathered my purse and headed inside to grab the snacks—a couple bags of chips and a 12 pack of soda.

Of course, I wasn't going to skid by Scott-free. There were other people in the store and as I was picking out my chips, one of the other patrons decided to approach me. I recognized him as one of the chefs from the BBQ Café.

"Hey Kat how are you feeling today?" Marco asked, his arms full with popcorn and a few other things I couldn't see.

Without looking at him I said, "I'm fine. Just getting some snacks."

He nodded. "Right. . .right. Well, hang in there. And feel free to stop by the restaurant any time, I'll make sure you get a free entre or something. I owe you two after yesterday."

I turned to him and smiled as best I could despite being annoyed. "Thanks. Maybe I'll take you up on that. I have other errands to run so. . .I'll see you around." I grabbed a couple random bags from the Lays section to help end the conversation.

"Yeah. . . . I gotta head to work in a couple hours too. Have a good day."

"You too." I scurried away before he could remember something else to talk about and picked out a pack of soda, avoiding eye contact with anyone else until I was at the register. I tossed all my things on the counter and fumbled in my purse.

"Just these things for you today, Kat?" Emily asked. She had graduated two years ahead of me.

"Yeah, just stopping by on my way to Wal-Mart. Your chips and soda are a bit cheaper, honestly." A flat-out lie, but I needed some excuse. "Carla and Lloyd aren't here today?"

She shook her head. "No, they had the day off today. You wanna know their next shift?"

Tempting, but not really. "No, that's fine. Thank you though."

"Sure thing. How are you doing?"

Her machine beeped with each scan and I readied my card. "I'm fine. Just here to buy some snacks." Hopefully she picked up the hint as quickly as Marco had.

"Glad to hear it. I can't imagine—well, never mind." Her smile filled with chagrin and she looked away from me before reciting the total. I started to hand over my Visa, then thought better of it and paid with a wad of cash that had been sitting in the bottom of my purse for ages.

Emily handed me the receipt and nodded. "Thanks for stopping by, Kat. It was good to see you. Have a good rest of your day today."

Nodding, I waved over my shoulder and carried my snacks out then stuffed them all in my trunk. Before turning the engine over, I slumped in my seat and pressed my hands against my temples. "That was anticlimactic," I sighed. I had built myself up for a confrontation, and then nothing.

Maybe I should have been happy, but "happy" wasn't something I'd felt in a month.

*:･ﾟ✧

It wasn't often that I had to worry about other cars while driving through the streets of Park City. Most of the time it was pedestrians. Stick to the speed limit because you never knew when someone was going to walk in front of you. After the accident, I paid even closer attention to what was going on around me while I drove; other drivers, pedestrians, stop signs and lights. . . .

So it came as a surprise to me when a pair of lights sprang up into my rear-view mirror, followed shortly by the loud  _bwip-bwip_  of warning sirens—I hadn't seen the cop car at all. It wasn't often they hid from public view.

Or hung out in town at all.

Police weren't often found hanging out unless they were called for a specific reason. Maybe they patrolled the freeway, but not  _in_  the town proper, and I was at least half a mile from hitting the freeway. Every once in a while Officer Wright would sit in town and make nice with the citizens, but I knew him and I knew where he parked.

His favorite parking spot wasn't anywhere near where I was.

My heart fluttered in my chest. I had turned out of the store not even two minutes ago—was that really enough time for me to do something wrong?

Confused and nervous, I glanced in my rear-view mirror and sure enough it  _was_  a police cruiser, one I didn't recognize. All of the cop cars I saw were still Impalas, but this one was in a brand new Mustang. When had they upgraded?

None of the cops in Laurel drove those, either, so where had this guy come from? My gut twisted inward and I felt my hands start to tremble.

I definitely didn't recognize the man sitting in the driver's seat, either, but I reminded myself that I only knew Sheriff Jensen from Laurel and Officer Wright. Other officers were strangers to me.

Being pulled over in general caused me alarm, but something about this was different. I couldn't see any identifying stickers, and the car was too  _new._ There would be no reason for them to call someone from the big cities to come to Park City.

No, something wasn't right. What could I do about it, though? The rules were the rules.

After pulling off to the right against the curb, I turned the engine off but left the key turned so that other parts of the car could still be worked. I made sure to turn the radio off so he didn't think I was being rude. It had been a while, but I knew the drill.

The first ticket given to me was when I first landed my license. Someone called the police when they spotted me doing cookies in an empty parking lot that winter. A good lecture had gone along with that ticket and I hated the feeling so much that I hadn't done anything stupid since. Really it had all been Marie's idea, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't think it was fun at the time.

That same tight-chested feeling was back now, ten-fold.

Despite being nervous, I knew there was a procedure to follow. If I was ready and prepared, I might only receive a warning. Be polite, don't bullshit; I tried to still my beating heart. Once settled, my trembling hands pulled out my license and proof of insurance, then I spent what precious few seconds I had trying to decide what I was going to tell him.

But I didn't even know what I was being pulled over  _for_. I didn't speed very often—mostly on the freeway—but since my parents had died I'd fallen back on safe driving to make sure I didn't wind up in the ground with them.

Then what was it? While he caught up to where I was pulled over, my mind went over what I could have done.

License plate? I had renewed them a few months ago.

Lights? No it wasn't dark enough to turn them on, he wouldn't have known if one was out—unless it was a break light. That was a possibility, and something I wouldn't have known about.

It was almost five at night, but it wouldn't be dark for another four hours at least, so it couldn't be that he saw my headlights were out (which they weren't anyway). There was no one else on the road, maybe a few pedestrians walking along, so it couldn't be that I had been tailgating another car.

No stop signs to run on this stretch, no lights. . . .

I was about ready to pull my hair out thinking of all of the things I could have done wrong. Didn't indicate for a turn? I couldn't think of anything else.

Instead of pulling up behind me, though, the officer pulled his car up next to mine. Now bewildered  _and_ nervous, I rolled down my window and leaned out so I wouldn't have to shout. Now that I could see his face, I knew I didn't recognize him.

Heat flushed my cheeks and I had to keep from looking around. I was sure anyone close enough to see what was going on would recognize me if not my car, and I could almost feel their eyes bearing down on me, judging and whispering. Hopefully they would wait before giving me the third degree until later. Word traveled fast in this stupid wanna-be town.

"Evening, sir. What's the problem?" I asked as sweetly as possible when he didn't speak, tilting my head to the side.

The mustachioed cop turned his head to look at me. I couldn't see his expression behind the giant aviator glasses he wore, but his lips were in a thin line, and he looked like a no-nonsense kind of guy. He didn't say a thing, either—only stared.

"Officer?" I pressed, still keeping my voice sweet and innocent. Now that bad feeling in my gut had turned into a churning knot of unease.

A light flashed and blinded me for a second. I held my hand up to shield my eyes and squinted hard. It was like the sun had shifted, or was being reflected off of something, but it wasn't natural—it was a sharp white-blue color, like a fluorescent light. And for a moment I thought it was coming from  _inside_  the car. It swept past, bathing my entire vehicle in the light like a scanner.

"Hey, what. . . ?"

Suddenly, my Camry roared to life and peeled out from next to the cop without me lifting a finger. A mechanical roar sounded behind me, like a demented car horn from hell—the cruiser?

"What the hell?" I almost didn't have enough time to pull my head in and shout before the window slid closed with a squeal. I turned and gripped the steering wheel, attempting to gain control of my run-away vehicle. Instead, it made a right turn at 50 miles an hour, then sped up faster on the deserted back road.

My pulse thudded against my eardrums and I yanked on the wheel, pounded against the brakes. Nothing worked. There was no response.

"What the fuck is happening oh my god oh my god. . . ."

Every breath I took became more and more rapid. My mind warped into overdrive and I fought to think of an answer to the problem—but there was nothing. How could I stop a vehicle that I couldn't control? And the police cruiser's siren was screaming behind us, further adding to the chaotic wind in my head. Another thing I could think of was to try to crash the car, but I couldn't steer it.

Some of the roads were paved while most were dirt, so the last thing my car should be going was fast. We fishtailed several times, and I frantically tried to gain control of the Camry again.

The emergency break wouldn't even budge when I tugged on it. Was there nothing else to try?

When nothing worked, I thought about bailing—tuck and roll. However, the door was locked and my windows were closed. Try as I might, I couldn't manage to pull up the locking mechanism and the roller on my car door wasn't doing anything to my windows, either. That kind of thing was only possible in movies! Why was it happening now?

However, the more I thought about it, the more I realized it wouldn't be safe to leap out of a moving vehicle at break-neck speeds.

But I wanted  _out_. Close to hyperventilating, I pried at the door handle. "Let me  _out_!"

 _"Hey, hey! Don' be goin' nowhere. I'm tryin'a help!"_  The baritone voice surrounded me, drowning out anything else for the duration of its speech.

My mouth fell open and I stared, wide-eyed, at my radio. Had—had my car  _spoken_? It certainly hadn't been the music. There was no way that was my favorite station's DJ. Any of them. They didn't sound like that!

"Wu—wuh—" I forgot how to form words.

_"I'll explain later. We gotta lose this fool."_

That was the end of that. I took a few rapid, deep breaths, and then screamed. Screamed for everything I was worth. Screamed until I ran out of breath. Then I thrashed in my chair, straining against the seatbelt restraining me.

The car shuddered.  _"Hey! Don' be so loud, I'm tryin'a concentrate!"_

"No no no no!" I wailed, scenes from the movie  _Christine_ running through my mind. I pounded my fist against the steering wheel, sounding the horn.

Of course I didn't remember Christine talking. Only running people down. I was being kidnapped by own car, somehow possessed by a demon or a ghost or  _something_  and there was absolutely no way I was explaining that to this cop. Or anyone.

Maybe if I was lucky everyone would just think I'd gone crazy with grief.

Maybe if I was lucky they'd lock me up in the madhouse instead of jail.

And that was only if I was  _lucky_. I didn't want to think about what would happen if I was  _unlucky._

Sirens blared from behind me and I turned around to see that the cop car was tailing closely on our ass.  _Our_ ass—my car's—whatever! There was absolutely no way that my old beater was out-running this thing. But somehow, despite the odds, it was keeping pace. It was  _holding its own_  against the monster of technology racing behind us.

I was part of a high speed chase. . .there was no way I wouldn't hear an earful about it later.

The cruiser sped up again and rammed the back of my car. It lurched forward and I was thrown against my seatbelt like a ragdoll.

"God dammit  _please stop_! Let me out, let me out!" My voice was a notch above a sob.

_"Whatever y'say, little miss."_

My possessed car made a sharp turn onto Cemetery Road. After a moment, it barreled through the closed gate of the graveyard, jarring me, and drove over the bumpy ground before spinning a three-sixty over a cleared patch of land. My door opened, my seatbelt released, and then I was thrown unceremoniously to the ground when the seat ejected me.

I let out a distressed sound as I landed in a heap, bruised and sore. My head was spinning and now parts of my body smarted from various scrapes. I managed to pull my limbs in, afraid of getting run over by the wheels.

_"Don' move!"_

It didn't have to tell me twice. I remained in the fetal position, one eye open. Dirt and rocks kicked up under my car's wheels as it circled me, and then the cop car was speeding toward us. I felt relief swell in my chest—until I realized it wasn't slowing down.

Despite being told not to move—by a  _car_ , no less—I uncurled and stood up. The police car wasn't going to stop. It was going to run one of us over!

Panic gripped me with icy fingers and I wanted nothing more than to turn tail and make a break for it, but my car hadn't stopped circling. When the police car was closer, though, the Camry halted directly in front of me.

Was it. . .protecting me?

They were going to slam into each other—but whatever, that was something the police car could deal with. Now it was time for me to run.

However, I didn't even turn before my sights were locked on the scene in front of me. While the two vehicles were feet apart, both  _moved_. Not in the way cars should move, either—not forwards, not backwards, they didn't stop. . .they  _shifted_.

"Oh, shit," I muttered, frozen to the spot as the two cars became anything but.

Gears whirred and metal scraped against metal. The frames of the two vehicles twisted and turned, collapsing and changing shape. Arms formed, a head spun into place on a pair of shoulders. My car twisted and spun in a—well the only word was  _graceful_ —display of agility.

However, my Camry was a few seconds too slow. The police cruiser finished its transformation first and slammed into my car. I threw myself to the ground as the cop car robot tackled my Camry overhead. I curled into a tight ball and remained there, trembling, while I listened to them slam into each other. A crash finally made me unfurl to see what happened.

My car was sliding across the manicured grass, a mass of half-formed limbs and car parts, and rammed into a large monument. Chunks of stone rained down on top of it.

Not a cop.

Not my car.

Giant robots.

_What the fuck, what the fuck!_

The cop car—now a black and white mech standing twenty-feet tall—whirled around to face me. My breath caught in my throat and I scrambled to my feet. It took a few steps toward me and I stumbled back to mirror the thing.

When it stomped toward me, I backpedaled right over a tombstone and fell on my ass. I sucked in gulps of air and my heart jumped straight into the upper atmosphere as the robot reached for me.

Before it grabbed me, a horn blared some distance away. It was enough to distract the monster in front of me and we both turned: my Camry. My. . .my robot? It charged right for the cruiser-turned-automaton, horn blaring in a challenging battle cry, tires kicking up grit. It had given up its robot form in favor for the vehicle again.

The two-story tall robot dipped down and picked my car up before flipping it to the side, making it land on its roof. It stared at my upside down car for a moment, and then turned back to me.

However short a reprieve, it was enough time for me to gather my wits.

Yelling incoherent warnings, I whirled around and bolted as fast as I could in the opposite direction. The robot caught up to me with little effort and batted me to the side. I shouted in pain and surprise as I was thrown onto a headstone. Adrenaline numbed the pain and I tried to spot the robot with quick glances. Both of its arms were on either side of me and it crouched down, pinning me against the stone slab.

Trapped like a rat.

"KATHRYN VICTORIA WALKER!" Its voice was like a cannon firing; my ears rang. It leaned closer to me and I could feel the heat coming off of it in thick waves, its glowing red eyes bearing straight into my soul. It's me-sized head filled my vision.

_Why does it know my name?_

My voice refused to work and I gaped at the mechanical monstrosity. Every fiber of my being quivered and a strangled sound akin to a dying seagull wavered from my throat.

It slammed its boulder-sized fist next to me and bellowed my name again. I pressed myself against the stone, shaking and whimpering. It slammed the other fist next to me before scooping me and the tombstone behind me up.

I wiggled out from his grasp and fell to the ground, landing on my chest. The rest of me followed and I crawled way like a bug, flinching with each rock and patch of dirt that fell atop me.

A large hand pressed down over me and I screeched. "Who are you to the Autobot dissenters?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

Another tinny bellow rattled my skull and set my teeth on edge. "WHO ARE YOU TO THE AUTOBOT SCUM?"

All I could do was scream and sob. Tears streamed from my eyes and I scrabbled at the ground, trying to wriggle from between the thing's fingers. What the fuck was an Autobot?

Wasn't I supposed to feel  _safe_  when a cop was around?

The robot snarled and plucked me off the ground between its talons. I wailed and thrashed around until the thing twisted its wrist to grip me in its palm, fingers closing in around me. It straightened up and brought me close to its face.

Glowing red eyes pierced through me. "Tell me or I'll squash you like the bug you are!"

"I don't know!" I shrieked.

Unsatisfied with my answer, the robot dropped me like a ragdoll back to the ground. He hadn't been holding me up high, but the landing hurt all the same. The air was forced from my lungs and I remained there, stunned. Stars danced before my eyes and I attempted a few times to stand, but I was too dizzy and my entire body hurt.

I was going to have bruises  _everywhere_. Assuming I lived long enough for the bruises to matter.

It was funny how a few minutes prior I had been afraid of my car, and now wanted it to come save me, like it tried to. Where had it gone? Was it even trying to save me or was it trying to fight this other one off so it could have me all to itself? Did that even make any sense? Which part of this situation made sense in the first place?

"Help! Someone help me!" I shouted through the tears. I was hopeless and hurting, and wasn't sure to what extent I was injured.

This giant robot was going to pick me up and eat me or take me to their leader and have them eat me. Either way I was certain I was winding up on the mechanical menu—human female, sauté until brown in oil and antifreeze sauce.

What? Eaten? Why would a robot eat me? Smashed was more likely than eaten.

Whatever, the end result was the same—I was going to die without knowing why this thing was mad at me in the first place.

Or what an "Autobot" was.

Rescue came at last. A dull white blur sailed over my head and crashed into the much larger robot, taking it down. I flinched and ducked, arms over my head, wincing again when metal crunched against metal.

Despite being smaller, the robot that was also my car was giving the larger robot-cruiser a run for its money. If I didn't know better, it looked like the little robot was dancing more than fighting. The fake police car couldn't recover from the erratic and oddly graceful blows it was taking. However, it eventually recovered.

Camry against Mustang. It would have been a very short fight if it was based off car performance, but there was an obvious skill gap—with the Camry on top of the chain. Several times I had to scurry out of the way when the fight was too close for comfort.

"Tha' all ya got, Decepticon punk?" Camry taunted after taking a blow to the shoulder.

Mustang's response was a metallic snarl and he launched himself at Camry. It countered with a mid-air spin, limbs twirling, and kicked the aggressor square in the jaw. The move sent the cruiser sprawling. Camry didn't stop there, though. It continued its momentum to whirl in the air and landed on the larger mech's chest before leaping off.

"I can do this all day," he said as Mustang rose to his feet and squared off. Some of the wiring was sparking between neck and shoulder, but Camry was only sporting a dented shoulder plate.

Red eyes narrowed into slits and Mustang seemed intent to continue, but stalled mid-step, as if it was waiting for or listening to something. During the duration, it never took its piercing gaze away from Camry. It was standing over me, legs spread, arms out like a linebacker, and it danced on its feet, loathe to be caught flat-footed. For the time being I could let myself believe it was trying to protect me.

Finally, the black car turned around, snarled some strange words over its shoulder at my car-robot, and converted back into vehicle mode before zipping back to the street and out of sight. Its—or his? It had such a masculine voice. . .they both did.

"Y'eh that's what I thought. Run like the li'l bitch y'are!" my car yelled after it.

Him. I don't know, both of them sounded male but they were robots. Did robots have actual  _genders_ at all? It was definitely the same voice I'd heard in my car. The deep baritone was unmistakable.

"What the hell? What! The!  _Hell!_ " I screamed, holding my head between my hands.

That robot had  _known my name_. Why? Why would they know the name of some twenty-two-year-old girl who hadn't ever left her home town let alone the state or the country?

"You a'ight?"

I looked up sharply at the machine and inhaled a quick, shaking breath. In my hysteria I hadn't noticed it walk up to me. That it was kneeling down to my eye level. I scrambled for a second and then booked it across the cemetery, using what was left of the adrenaline to power me into a sprint. It would be the most exercise I had done since quitting cheerleading in eighth grade.

"Woah! Where ya goin'?"

The sound of his swift footsteps made me pull out another burst of speed, but for every ten paces I took, he made one. Maybe half of one. He was smaller than Mustang by four or five feet, but that was still larger than me.

By a long shot.

He jogged around me and I skidded to a stop, trying to turn and run in the other way, but I slipped on some loose gravel and almost fell. He scooped me up in his four-fingered hand and lifted me off the ground by my torso before I could hit the ground. I felt like a toy being plucked out of the pile in one of those claw machines—it didn't help that his hands were shaped the same way. I whimpered and tried to pry myself out, but he held tight.

"Let me go! Please let me go! I'll do whatever you want! I just—I can't take you to the president! I don't know him! Please, I work at a bank! I don't even know where the UN meets!" I sobbed.

Camry crouched over the ground, holding me in one hand and bringing his other hand up to hover nearby, ready to catch me if I managed to slip through his grasp and fall, though he was careful t keep from being too high off the ground.

"Shh. Calm down, little miss. . . I ain't gonna hurt ya." He pulled me in close to his chest.

Like I was a fucking rabbit.

At the moment, though, I certainly felt like a rabbit. My heart was beating a mile a minute and hard enough against my chest to hurt. My arms pressed hard against his cool, metallic hand, trying to pull myself from his grip. He held me tight, but gently, the way you're supposed to hold a butterfly. He cooed every now and again in an attempt to soothe me.

My feet kicked underneath me, but the fight was starting to drain from my mind and body. Hopelessness began to settle and I gasped for breath, trying hard not to cry, but the tears came without my permission. Then, all at once, I fell still, slumped in his hand, and sobbed.

"Wuh—what're you. . . ?" For several seconds he was still, the only sounds my sobbing and some gears whirring from him. "N-no don' cry! No—see—I ain't gon' hurt ya!"

He proved his point by setting me down on the ground. My legs wouldn't support my weight right away, so I ended up half-sitting and half-lying in the dirt between two sets of tombstones. I didn't even want to think about how much bad luck I'd racked up by disturbing these graves.

"See?" The machine held his hands up, still crouching.

I fought to control my emotions and took deep, gasping breaths, wiping at my eyes to brush the tears away. Despite the situation, I was hard-wired to be wary of my mascara. It took a few moments, and the robot still hovered over me, his hands never far away in case I was going to bolt, or maybe he didn't know what to do with them to help soothe me.

Though I finally managed to stop crying and stand up, I wasn't quite calm enough to be speak in a coherent manner about anything.

"What the  _hell_  is going on?" I demanded once my hiccups and gasps subsided. My voice sounded high-pitched, even to me. My hands were on my head, and my messy bun had long since been dislodged, leaving my hair to fall about my shoulders in dark brown ringlets. "What  _are_  you? What  _is going on!"_

He crouched lower, perched over the ground, and waved a hand in my direction. It made me flinch, even if he was being careful. "Calm down little miss, calm down."

" _Calm down_?" I repeated incredulously, glaring at him. "How can I  _calm down?_  You're a giant robot! You were my car! That cop turned into a giant robot and I am  _freaking out_  right now!" The tirade was punctuated by angry arm-flails. Through the tears and thick voice, I wondered if he could understand a word I said.

"Why don' we talk about it later? When you calmed down a bit," he suggested, his head cocked to the side.

I turned my head to look at him—really look at him. If there was any doubt that this robot was  _my_ car, it was gone after a quick examination. The whole front chassis of my car made up his chest plate, two tires were his shoulders, and my license plate was draped over his midsection like a belt buckle.

My eyes slowly made their way to his face and I sniffed wetly. "Wh-what do you want with me?" I asked, stopping to clear my throat. Unlike the cop car, his optics were colored blue.

Did that really mean what I thought it meant? Blue good, red bad? It seemed too simple.

"I jus' wanna keep ya safe. Ya want me t'take ya home?" he asked.

There wasn't much thinking involved; of course I wanted to go home, and after being tossed around by a robot, I didn't want to walk. I nodded my head in a jerky motion, and it made my temples throb with the beginnings of a headache. The adrenaline was starting to wear off, and the wounds I'd sustained were catching up to me.

This slang-using robot didn't say anything else. He nodded his understanding and in a few graceful twirls, the same brilliant dancing from before, he was once again shaped like a Toyota Camry.

Like my car.

I hesitated a moment, glancing around, and then climbed inside the open driver's seat door. Though I was wary, I still settled into the seat and pulled on the belt. "You're not. . .tricking me?"

_"Naw. Why would I need ta?"_

There was nothing stopping him from lying to me, but I had no choice but to trust him for now.


	4. Must be Dreaming

_“Yo. . . anyone home?”_ That voice from the radio again.

 I started with a violent shudder, yanked from my trance, and looked around for the source. My mind cleared and I realized that I was sitting inside my car, parked in my driveway. My talking car. That was actually a giant robot.

 My insides quivered. This wasn’t real.

When had we made it to my house? Had I really spaced out hard enough I couldn’t even remember the drive home? I would have to take that as a good sign. A sign that it—he?—wasn’t lying when he said he wouldn’t hurt me.

_“You. . .a’ight?”_

“What?” I murmured, staring around the car, befuddled.

His trepidation was palpable. _“Ya don’ seem a’ight. You stressin’ an awful lot. We pr’y don’ got much time. We gotta head out soon. Gonna need ya coherent.”_

I took a breath and turned my gaze to the dashboard. “What do you mean?”

_“We gotta go to Nevada.”_

There was a moment’s pause while my brain tried to understand. It never did. “What?”

The robot let out a resigned gust of air through the vents. _“I was hoping I could’a introduced m’self at a better time. . .was ‘fraid this’d happen._ ”

Two deep breaths helped clear my head—in through my nose, out through my mouth—and I pressed my palms against my cheeks. My whole body hurt like I was one big, living bruise. I couldn’t think straight and though questions burned inside me, I knew I needed to sort some things first.

“You should take me to a hospital,” I sighed.

_“Naw you ain’t hurt that bad. I’m not Ratchet but I can tell ya ain’t got no broken bones or nothin’. Couple’a sprained joints maybe.”_

“Ratchet?”

_“Our medical officer—ye’h, never mind that now. Why don’ ya go inside? Clean up, eat something. Pack a bag.”_ He was talking too fast and not making any sense.

I struggled to understand and shifted in my seat. “Pack?”

_“We. . . gotta go. . .to Nevada?”_

“Why?”

_“T’meet the rest’a my team.”_ I was impressed at how easy it was for him to muster some tolerance. I was still struggling to comprehend everything and he was going to great lengths to answer my questions—and my mind was so numb. I had so many questions.

My mind reeled and I leaned back in my seat, head tilted and the heel of my hand pressed against forehead. “Team?”

_“Ye’h. We got stuff t’do. I’ll explain on the way.”_

A quick look over my shoulder let me know the evil cop car wasn’t around. Still, I wasn’t sure if I should take that at face value. “What about. . .the other one? The cop?”

_“Don’ worry. Barricade ain’t cmin’ back for now._ ”

Eyes squinted, I echoed him; “Barricade?”

_“Th’ Decepticon tha’ I saved ya from back there.”_

“Ah. . .okay.” Sure whatever. Decepticon. Barricade. Okay, fine. That explained everything.

Except it _didn’t_.

_“You. . .uh. . .better go inside. My scans say y’need to eat. And we need t’start driving if we want to avoid bein’ caught by authorities.”_

It didn’t make any sense to me, so I switched to autopilot. I nodded and climbed out of the not-car, making the trek to my front door with heavy limbs. I didn’t even pick my purse up from the passenger seat. I struggled with my lanyard until I found the house key—the copy was pink leopard print, faded from use over the many years.

I glanced once more back to the car. It sat there like it always did, as if nothing unusual had just happened. But I knew. There was nothing normal about that car anymore. It was eerie.

Once inside, I pulled the buzzing cellphone from my pocket and tossed it on the couch. I would answer it when I’d had time to unwind. I would deal with the consequences of running from a police officer later. When I came up with a story.

Sure, it hadn’t been a _real_ police officer, but no one else knew that. I’m sure _someone_ called the department one town over to tell them all about it. _Snitches_.

So someone was sure to come investigate. It was just a question of how long.

I walked past the kitchen and up the stairs toward the bathroom, wanting a serious shower after being thrown from a car into the dirt and then batted around like a kitten’s ball of yarn. I was dusty and bloody, but I paused halfway up the steps and stared back at the kitchen.

_Eat something,_ he’d said.

How, when I’d been going to the grocery store when I was attacked? I had bought those chips and soda earlier, but how could that have survived a giant droid death match? I wasn’t about to go back outside and find out, either.

Later. I’d eat after a shower. Maybe I would eat the peanut butter and call it a day.

The only thing I wished was that I could take a longer shower, but the talking robot said we were in a hurry. Ridiculous. My _talking car_ was giving me orders. I needed a shower more than ever if I was going to process this; showers were my favorite thinking time.

I used the time I did have to run inventory over all my bits. Once the water washed all the dirt and dried blood away, I could see every little thing.

There were even more abrasions than I thought, and my hips and shoulders were going to be discolored for weeks. The arm Barricade—was that his name?—had hit was sore and I almost couldn’t lift it high enough to wash my hair. Everything on that side from my shoulder to the bottom of my ribs was a horrific purple-red color with a green fringe. With the adrenaline now gone, I could feel it all.

And it all _hurt_.

Hot water made parts of me sting, other parts ache, and wasn’t worth what little relief I garnered from it. I had to settle instead for a luke-warm temperature. Pity, I usually loved it scalding.

So I dealt with the cleansing shower washing over my body as I stood unmoving under the torrent and digested what I had been through. My car was a robot. Or possessed _by_ a robot. Though my bet geared more toward my car being _replaced_ by a robot—since I didn’t think robots were like spirits, capable of possessing anything.

Then what happened to my real Camry? Had it been destroyed?

In any case, it wanted me to. . .go somewhere with it. I didn’t know why. I still had many questions to ask and hadn’t had any time to ask them. I wasn’t even in the state of mind to form coherent speech let alone formulate an inquiry that made sense. I would have to ask them during the road trip.

_Wait a hot minute._

This robot—it just _expected_ me to go to, to Nevada with it? Sure he hadn’t done anything to hurt me and he even _saved_ me, but could I really go on a spur-of-the-moment road trip without so much as an explanation?

What had his plan been to convince me to go before that Barricade had shown up?

“Hey, so, I’m actually a robot. Come to Nevada with me?”

Ha! Not likely.

And what was in Nevada in the first place? There was Las Vegas and a lot of desert. I found it quite unlikely that the robot wanted to hit the casinos.

We had a rinky-dink casino here in Park City if that was the case!

It was maddening. Why had I let him drive me home? Maybe I’d had no other choice, but. . . . I smacked my forehead against the tile of the shower and groaned. There was no making sense out of any of it. Maybe there wasn’t any point in gleaning logic from the situation.

Over the sound of the shower head I thought I heard some sirens in the distance. Were they really already on their way, or was I imagining things?

All the same, I hopped out of the shower and hurried to dress my wounds.

I rummaged through the whole house until I found the stash of Band-Aids my mom kept in her bathroom and put them everywhere I could, save for a few scrapes I couldn’t reach on my back, and some too large for what I had.

Instead, I put on an undershirt I didn’t mind staining and wore a lavender-colored, loose-fitting shirt over the top. I’d been wearing shorts during the fight, but my jeans would hide the injuries better.

Wearing them smarted, but it was better than any unwanted attention.

Explaining it away as a car accident would be easy, but I didn’t want to explain anything at all.

Despite the robot’s suggestion to pack, I didn’t bother. If he thought I was going to take what he said at face value, he was dead wrong. The shower had cleared my head, the pain killers I’d taken were starting to kick in, and I was beginning to see how crazy this whole situation was and how stupid it would be to go with him.

Well forget it! It wasn’t happening.

Obviously he didn’t need me to drive him; he’d done plenty of that when he’d run from the insane cop car and then took me home. What could he possibly want with me? And if that evil robot wasn’t coming back, then shouldn’t I feel safe at home?

With my mind made up, I stormed down the stairs, but stopped short at the bottom.

If a cellphone could sound desperate, mine certainly did.

It was enough to derail my nerves. My shoulders sagged and I rubbed a hand over still-wet hair. I’d tossed it up on my head with a couple clips, and water still dripped down my temples from a shoddy attempt at drying. I’d thrown some make-up together to hide a few bruises and scrapes.

Sighing, I walked over to the couch and picked up the phone, swiping to answer. “Marie,” I muttered, sickened by how meek my voice sounded.

Mikey was in the background crying. “Kat! Kat oh my god what happened? Where are you? Mrs. Cooper said that her husband saw you get pulled over by a cop! Then you drove away from him? What is going on, are you okay? Are you in trouble?” I wasn’t sure she’d even taken a breath.

I didn’t know what to tell her. I fumbled over words and made incoherent sounds. The waterworks were threatening to turn on again and I knew Marie noticed.

 “Oh my god Kat what happened? No one knows who that cop is. Did someone try to hurt you? Are you in trouble? Do I need to drive down there? I can get Brandon to take some time off school to watch Mikey and I can be there by tonight at the latest!” She stopped long enough to try to calm down her crying child.

What was I supposed to tell her? I hadn’t thought up a lie yet and what would make the most sense? How could I explain away a cop that didn’t exist and the reason why I fled? My mouth hung open as I thought, a lump preventing words from forming.

“Kat? Kat are you okay? Are you there still?”

Finally, I found my voice. “Y-yes, I’m here. Everything’s fine. I’m just—just a little shaken up and everything. I’m okay though, and nothing happened so—”

“Shaken up? What did the cop do to make you shaken up? And you ran from him, too! How is everything fine?” she insisted. “You sound like you’re in trouble! Are you lying to me? Is he there with you now? Are you being _kidnapped?_ ”

Her voice had turned into a harsh whisper and I closed my eyes. “No, Marie. I’m not being kidnapped.” Well. It might have been a bad attempt at kidnapping but she didn’t need to know that. I glanced to the computer and an idea sparked to the tip of my tongue. “It was all just a. . .um. . .a stupid, asinine prank.”

She was silent for a moment, then rolled the word on her tongue like an interesting taste. “Prank? Really?”

“Yes,” I said with a sharp nod. “A prank. Some—some guy got himself a cruiser, or. . .or painted his car to look like a cruiser and pulled me over for shits and giggles and thought it would be funny to terrorize me! But—but you know I know. . .all the cops here, like everyone else so—so he didn’t expect me to figure it out. I. . .um. . .I told him he was an idiot and left! Then he decided it would be funny to chase me with his sirens and lights!”

There was another moment’s hesitation before she spoke again, and she sighed. “What an asshole! That explains why they were driving around in some sort of fancy-ass sports car instead of a the usual but it just. . . .”

“It was a muscle car but—”

“Kat! That is so _not_ the point! Did he finally leave you alone?”

“Yes he did, but how do you know all of this anyway?” I asked, clenching my eyes shut and rubbing my forehead. I didn’t need this. Marie didn’t need this. I could hear her in the background trying hard to calm down her upset son.

 “Haven’t you checked Facebook? Shh, Mikey—”

“Uh, no, I was busy trying to get over some douchenozzle trying to scare the living hell out of me!” Yes, act defensive. That always made everything more legit.

She sighed impatiently. “The neighbor kid, Bobby? He was out with his mom and got a picture of the cop pulling you over and no one knew which precinct he came from. For a while Brandon thought maybe it was a state trooper that wandered in but I didn’t buy it. I can’t believe someone would do something so obnoxious! And to you!”

“Yeah I know it was really shitty.” I sighed and sank onto my couch. I was tugging at my hair, hoping to wrap the conversation up soon. “I’m sorry you worried and I’m sorry I didn’t answer my phone right away. I was just so. . .so stressed out.”

“I know, I know. I wish I could tell you it’s going to be okay but like, I think Mrs. Cooper called the Laurel Police Department so someone might be coming to talk to you.”

Mikey had finally stopped crying but he was still making gurgling, fussy noises.

I groaned and leaned forward to hang my head between my knees. “Well that’s just great. Just so freaking great.”

Marie made a sympathetic noise and said, “I know—just tell them what happened, though! Did the guy pull anything on you? What did he say? That’s just so crazy! You see prank shit like that all the time on the internet but I didn’t think it’d ever be something that happened to someone I knew!”  

“I can barely remember it, really.” Her willingness to accept my story without putting up a fight planted a false confidence in me. If she bought it, others would. “He didn’t even get out of the car, just kinda pulled up next to me and was trying to tell me something about. . .I don’t know. I don’t remember. It all happened so fast and when he chased me I just kind of. . . blanked out.”

“So crazy, oh my god, girl. Ugh at least you didn’t get hurt or he didn’t do anything stupid like pull a gun! Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked again. Mikey was silent and I wondered if she started feeding him.

“Yeah, yeah. Everything’s good.” The quietest of sirens wailed in the distance and I glanced to the window. “I gotta go, Marie. I think I can hear the cops coming.”

 “Good luck!” She called before I hung up the phone.

After shoving my phone into my pocket, I tip-toed to the front window and peeked from between the curtain. My car—no, the robot—wasn’t in the driveway where I’d left it. I moved around to see the front of the house, but I didn’t spot it anywhere nearby.

Had he given up and left?

_Thank god._

There was only two bad things about the robot being gone. I’d never figure out where my chips and soda went, _and_ I’d left my purse sitting on the passenger seat.

Those were all material possessions I could replace later, after dealing with the police. I’d just have to explain it away like I’d told Marie—if they couldn’t find the robot-cop, then they would have no choice but to believe that it was a prank. They’d have to let me go, and then I could pick up the pieces and try to wrap my head around the fact that there were giant mechs hiding in plain sight.

Another reason it was a bad thing the robot was missing. . .now I would never have answers to my questions. Or maybe that was a good thing.

I heard one set of sirens and felt relieved, though I wasn’t sure why I expected the whole squad to show up. I guess I thought my day was already shitty enough, the only thing more shitty would be if the whole police force came to pick me up.

Whoever it was—Sheriff Jensen or Officer Wright—they were usually pretty reasonable guys. I felt that I could talk my way out of any trouble with them.

However, a thought occurred to me and I backed from the window, letting the curtain flutter shut. What if it wasn’t Sheriff Jensen or Officer Wright? What if it was the _robot-cop_ coming for round two? The not-Camry said he wouldn’t come back, but how could he be so sure?

Swallowing hard, I peeked out the window again to wait for the cops. I could climb the fence in the back no problem, so if it was the evil robot, I could make a break for it. . . .

Before any cruiser showed up, a silver Dodge Stealth pulled up in front of the house. I looked at it for a moment, then made a double take. It was one of my neighbors’ car from a block away—was he coming to check on me?

Their horn blared, startling me, and I swore under my breath. “Carlton,” I huffed, shaking my head. The man had lived down the road all my life.

It didn’t make sense that he wouldn’t come to the door, so I decided to see what he wanted. Leaving the window, I slipped on my shoes and ventured out of the house. The sirens were closer now, but still a few blocks away. I looked down the street both ways and saw no sign of my robot car, so I jogged toward Carlton, my hand raised in greeting.

His driver side door started to open and I slowed my pace until I hit the sidewalk. “Hey, Carlton. What can I do for yo. . . .” I trailed off when there was a lack of a physical person sitting in the car.

_Oh no._

_“Get in—Wait, you don’t got no bags?”_ the radio demanded.

Bewildered, I took a step back. “Wh—what?”

_“It’s me! I changed forms so they wouldn’ be lookin’ fer yo’ car.”_

My mouth fell open and I turned to look down the street. I could see the cop car roll into view around the corner, lights flashing. “But—no! No I’m not going anywhere with you!” I tried to shout, but all I managed was a half-hearted wheeze of defiance.

The car’s engine revved and the side moved. _“We ain’t got time fo’ this, little miss. They getting’ closer an’ closer.”_

Gears clicked and whirred as the side of the car shifted, and then the robot’s four-fingered hand snatched out faster than I could comprehend. I had just enough time to gasp and take a surprised step backward before his fingers closed around my torso.

In one fell swoop, I was yanked off of the sidewalk and thrust into the car’s seat. Rubber burned as the now-Stealth took off down the road. The panic was back, gripping my chest like a vice. Once again  I was stuck frantically trying to gain control of the vehicle in any way possible—breaks, steering wheel—but just like the last time, it didn’t work.

_“Quit fussin’.”_

“No! Let me out!” I hissed, leaning back and kicking the dashboard with both of my feet.

The car shook. _“‘Ey! ‘Ey that actually_ hurts _!”_

“Good!” I punctuated each of my following words with a vicious kick. “Let! Me! Out!”

_“Ow! Quit it!”_

The seatbelt struck like a snake, wrapping me up tight and strapping me down to the driver’s seat. I struggled against it and snarled incoherently for a time, my legs flailing.

_“Please! Jus’ calm down, a’ight? I_ am not _gonna hurt ya! This is for y’own protection, ‘k?_ ” he said. He was cruising through the streets without a second thought for speed or the rules of the road and I could already see the I-90 exit up ahead.

“Tell me what’s going on! _Now_! This is _kidnapping_!”

His groan consumed the whole car and he swerved around a slow-moving van; the driver blared the horn. _“Name’s Jazz. We call ourselves Autobots. We from th’planet Cybertron_.”

Autobot. The other robot had said that word. . . .

Was that what he’d been asking? What I meant to this. . .this Jazz thing and his team? How was I supposed to know that? The cop—Barricade—must have thought I was aware Jazz wasn’t a normal car.

It was enough. I allowed myself to relax and my legs stopped kicking out. When I did, the seatbelt acting as a restraint loosened just enough for me to straighten up in the seat and sit properly. “’Planet’? You. . .you’re. . . an alien?”

_“Ye’h, s’pose I am.”_

I leaned back and stared out the windshield at the sky. The clouds were still hovering overhead, darkening the horizon. Aliens. An alien machine from some strange planet was pretending to be my car and had kidnapped me.

“Aliens,” I breathed. “Aliens, aliens aliens. . . .”

Mr. Alien-Robot-Car Jazz was silent for a few minutes while I digested the information. Extraterrestrial life was a passing fancy. I believed, sure, but I also believed there would be no way for them to find Earth, or that if they did my experience wouldn’t be attempted—now successful—kidnapping or attempted murder. I would see them on the news, or from a distance. . . . Never up close and personal.

After a spell, he spoke up. His voice seemed to originate from the radio, but it vibrated all around me. _“You. . .uh. . .still onl—awake?”_

 My voice sounded like a dream. “So. . . what do, aliens, want with me?”

_“Optimus Prime, m’leader, sent me here t’protect ya from the Decepticons.”_

“Decepti-what?”

  _Decepti_ cons _—like Barricade. They from Cybertron too but they bad. Yo’ ancestor, uh, Sam Walker, met us in space long ago. Starscream, current leader’a the Decepticons, tricked him into thinking he was the good guy but betrayed ‘em.”_

So many names and groups, I was having trouble keeping his story straight. I closed my eyes and rubbed the sides of my head while trying to process everything. It took intense focus for me to keep everything straight. Starscream bad, Optimus Prime good. Simple enough. I said, “Sam Walker? Like—like my great-grandpa? He was in space? Doing what?”

_“I ‘unno. Space travel stuff I guess.”_

What a wonderful and deep explanation. I glared at the steering wheel and muttered incoherent insults under my breath.

_“Anyway. When Starscream almost killed Optimus, Walker and his crew crippled Starscream and sacrificed their lives. Optimus figured if ya ancestor was a friend, you and yo’ family would be, too. Thought we could get some allies from the human side.”_

Had Dad or Mom known about this? About my great-grandpa? Dad had told me he’d been involved with early attempts at space flight, but not that he had _succeeded_ in entering space.

“But—then, what about the rest of the crew?” I asked.

_“You the only relative t’show up in our searches. Seem like there’re too many name changes. Or maybe you the only surviving family member of the original crew._ ”

I sighed and rubbed my forehead. “What about. . . my mom’s family?”

There was a short pause. I waited patiently for an answer, wondering what he was thinking about. Or if he was looking up something. Could he even do that? _“Naw, we was only followin’ ya dad’s lineage. I. . .uh. . .never managed t’approach ya dad before. . .well. . . .”_

My throat tightened and I fought to swallow. We’d talk about that later, when I’d had a chance to calm down. “How’d you learn to speak English?”

If he noticed the deflection, he didn’t push it. He answered the question instead. _“Internet.”_

That was almost too simple and easy, but he was a machine, which also meant it wasn’t that far-fetched. I harrumphed and crossed my arms over my chest. “Yeah okay. . . .”

_“Feel better?”_

“No but—well I mean yeah, but—it’s just. . .so much to take in.” I leaned back in my seat and the belt loosened ever further, falling slack and clicking into the buckle like it was meant to. I closed my eyes and rubbed the sockets.

Alien robots. Some sort of feud. My great-grandpa. My head was spinning.

“You promise you’re not going to hurt me?” I asked, eyes narrowed slightly.

_“I wouldn’ dream of it, little miss. Optimus forbade us to hurt humans.”_

I nodded and swallowed the lump in my throat. He hadn’t done anything to make me feel like he was lying, but I wasn’t sure I trusted him a hundred percent yet.

_“Ye’h. . .I’m sorry ‘bout all this. I didn’ want you to find out like ya did, y’know? I know we pr’y freaked you out a bit,”_ he apologized. We were cruising along the freeway now, the scenery flying past as a blur. _“Jus’ rest now. We got a long drive ‘head of us._ ”

“Right. To Nevada. . . for some reason.”

_“To meet the rest of my team.”_

“Yeah, okay. But why?”

Ever so tentatively, I leaned forward and put my hands on the wheel. The alien robot—Jazz, I guess he said his name was—was still in control, but I felt like I needed to at least pretend I was driving so I didn’t attract any unwanted attention. Everything about it was weird.

The way it moved in my hands, how the pedal shifted under my foot—it made my skin crawl.

_“There’s this kid there. We think he might got somethin’ that could lead us t’our power source.”_ As if that explained the whole thing.

I tried to keep my eyes on the road while we conversed. “Okay I’m gonna let that slide because that sounds complicated and I don’t think I want to know. What’s it doing here on Earth?” I asked instead. Every answer he gave me just brought up more questions. Somewhere along this trip I was going to have to draw the line.

_“It’s a long story.”_

Sighing, I said, “Yeah, I can imagine. Why do I need to come with you, though? Why couldn’t I just stay home and. . .not be kidnapped?”

He was silent a moment before speaking. _“Ah, well, I know I said Barricade wouldn’t be back for a bit, but. . .well he would’a been back eventually. If not him, another ‘con. I’m afraid tha’. . .well tha’ my involvement with ya life may’ve made you a target.”_

Groaning, I leaned back and in my seat and pressed my palm against my forehead. Wonderful.

_“Why don’t ya rest a li’l bit, Kathryn? You still stressed. Jus’ sit back an’ relax. I’ll stop by a drug store soon’n we c’n get ya more bandages.”_

Relax, yes. Because that was possible while I was stuck inside an alien robot.

Still, he was trying. Maybe he’d tied me up with a seatbelt for a little while, but I _had_ been kicking him. And sort of hysterical. And maybe he’d inadvertently involved me with his war. He was trying, though. He’d done his best to explain and was being, well, nice. The least I could do was return the favor and make an attempt at trusting him.

“Did you. . .you said your name was Jazz, right?”

_“Ye’h. Tha’s me.”_

It took me a few seconds to work up the nerves and a lot of adjusting in my seat, but I managed to speak. I was used to the seats of my Camry, not this Stealth, and I was having issues sitting comfortably. “Well, um. . .I’m Kathryn. Though. . . . I’m sure you already knew that. . . .”

He chuckled, an action that made his engine rumble.

“Most people just call me Kat, though.” Except for a handful of the older people I knew, including my manager at work.

_“Cat?”_ he repeated. _“But you ain’t a cat.”_

Despite myself, his words managed to draw a smile from me. I had a feeling he’d done it on purpose. “No—not the animal. It’s short for Kathryn.”

_“Oh I gotcha. A’ight, Kat. Nice to meet ya.”_

The smile remained for a bit longer before fading. “It’s nice to meet you too, Jazz.”


	5. Passenger

_“You left this stuff, by the way.”_

Before I could ask, the back seat clunked around, prompting me to turn. The back of the seats opened up to the trunk and it spat out my bag of chips, the soda, and my purse. My eyes widened and I shifted to look up front again.

“How did. . . ? You—you turned into a giant robot, though—I don’t understand?”

Jazz snickered and I wondered if he learned such human mannerisms from the internet as well. _“Got my own pocket dimension I keep shit in.”_

My eyebrow raised at the swear word—not that I was above swearing but hearing an alien robot use it was weird—then realized what he was saying. “Pocket dimension? That’s. . .is that even a real thing? How does that work?”

_“Called subspace. E’ry Cybertronian has their own. Lotta technical jargon, though. Don’ wanna bore ya with’ th’ details.”_

Whatever, I was starving. I reached back and grabbed one of the bags. “I’ll take that as a ‘it’s too complicated to explain in layman’s terms’.” When the bag wouldn’t open I took to ripping it apart with my teeth until the plastic gave in to my demands.

_“Could you explain at length how your kidneys work?”_

I pursed my lips and shook my head. “I see your point.”

Eating the chips grew increasingly awkward as I realized I was inside a sentient being, possibly dropping crumbs and grains of salt all over. After a few handfuls I put the chips away and opened a bottle of soda. I swallowed that down with some trouble.

Here I was, sitting in a car, but it wasn’t a car. . . .

It wasn’t a car, but it _was_ a car. . . ?

The concept was hard to wrap my head around. I had seen his robot form for all of five minutes, and most of that time was spent screaming or having a panic attack. Now I was sitting inside a seemingly normal car that was talking to me through the radio. Eating chips and drinking soda. How could any of that be _real?_ What if I had snapped and gone crazy?

My next question stuck in my throat for a few minutes before I managed to work up the courage to ask. I stalled by finishing off my soda and tucking the can in the grocery bag so I could throw it away later. Finally, I managed to ask. “Can you pull over at the next country road for me?”

Jazz hesitated a beat, then said, _“Sure little miss. But why?”_

I pressed my lips into a thin line and refused to look at the dashboard, choosing instead to stare out the window. “Just pull off somewhere no one will see us,” I muttered in a small voice.

_“Kat?”_

He wasn’t going to let it go until I explained. I sighed and rubbed my face. “I just. . .this is all so overwhelming and. . .well I wanted to see. . .the _real_ you. Y’know. When I’m not terrified you’re going to kill me. I’m just. . .not sure if any of this is real.”

To my chagrin, he chuckled at me. _“Ye’h, a’ight. I can do that.”_

*:･ﾟ✧ 

Even though I’d requested it, I grew increasingly nervous as Jazz exited the freeway and drove down an uneven country road. He rolled along until we passed some trees, and then he pulled off the path and wedged himself in a tight grove.

My door opened and I started to gather up all of my things, but Jazz told me not to worry about it. My stomach was knotted with all kinds of emotions, but I tried to keep it together.

 _“Stand back now,”_ Jazz advised.

He didn’t need to tell me twice. I skipped backwards a few paces and clutched my hands to my chest, fidgeting with my fingers. My knees were shaking, though I wasn’t entirely sure why. “Okay I’m ready now.”

The Jazz-Stealth vibrated with laughter. _“Why so nervous?”_

I shook my head. “Don’t make fun of me, just change!”

His laughing lasted a few seconds more, and then he transformed. The wheels first extended outward, and then in a flurry of graceful twists and turns that made him spin like a break dancer, Jazz changed from car to robot before my eyes. I found myself pressing my balled-up fists hard enough against my chest that it hurt; it was all I could do to keep from running.

It was all over in a few blinks of the eye. The whirring and clicking finished as a few stray pieces of machinery fell into place, and then Jazz kneeled down in front of me, one arm resting on his propped-up knee. “So? Feel better?”

Though I wasn’t quite relaxed, I was able to uncurl my fingers from their white-knuckled fist position. I was aware my mouth was open, but I wasn’t able to close it yet. Instead, I took a few breaths to steady myself. Jazz cocked his head to one side, but said nothing even as I approached him with trepidation, shuffling sideways.

Jazz’s shoulders shook as he rumbled a laugh. “What’re you doin’?”

“Shh,” I murmured, lifting my hand and extending my arm toward him. I moved closer again and turned my palm skyward. Jazz looked amused—well, I thought anyway. It was hard to tell with his facial structure—and then extended his arm a few inches to meet me, lifting a single finger.

Finally, I closed my mouth to swallow the lump in my throat and let my palm run over the smooth metal of his finger. My insides quivered. He was a lot smaller than the black car that had attacked me, probably fifteen feet instead of twenty; one of his fingers was barely the size of my forearm. The metal he was made from was warm to the touch, but not burning. Even though he had been white like my Camry, he was now the same steel blue silver of the Stealth he’d changed into.

He was all sharp angles and sleek lines, the armor dull in spots where the paint had worn in his vehicle mode. There weren’t many dents or other blemishes.  

“Do I still gotta be quiet?” he whispered.

I bit my lip and shook my head, stepping up closer before straightening my back to look more confident than I felt. Then I looked away from his arm and up to his face. His head reminded me of a bird, kind of. Triangular and with a set of “tufts” like a horned owl. He had a pair of bright blue lights functioning as “eyes” and no real discernable mouth, but if he spoke, the parts on his face moved like I imagined a mouth would.

“What’s this?” I asked, motioning for him to lean down. He complied and I brushed my fingers against an insignia imprinted on his forehead. It looked like a tiny, square, robotic face.

He sat up a bit and touched the spot himself. For a brief second it seemed like he wasn’t sure what I meant, but then it dawned on him and he nodded. “S’like our flag, y’know? All Autobots got this somewhere on ‘em.”

“And the Decepticons?”

“Theirs’s different. Looks shaper.” He dragged his finger through the dirt, drawing the insignia he was talking about. It was a triangular face instead, and it appeared angry. I nodded absently, my focus dedicated to memorizing the differences so I wouldn’t mistake an enemy for a friend. It could mean the difference between life or death later.

Jazz leaned back until he thumped on the ground into a sitting position. “Did’ja see what ya need t’see?” he asked, his head cocked to the side as he watched me examine the way the car’s wheel wells made up his feet.

Looking up at him, I nodded. “Yeah. . . yeah. I think so. I just. . . sorry.”

He chuckled and leaned toward me. “Why you ‘pologizing?”

“I. . . I dunno. Sorry.” My cheeks burned.

Another rumbling chuckle. “Quit that. You ain’t got nothing t‘pologize for.”

The blush spread to my ears and I averted my gaze, nodding. “I know, sor. . .my bad. I just don’t know what else to say. It’s just—I can’t, like, believe you’re real, I guess.”

“Very real, little miss.”

My expression fell and I sighed. “Yeah.” If he was real, then that meant the danger was real, as well. Probably not even just me. What if the whole world was in trouble?

“S’wrong?” he asked after I fell quiet.

I looked up and took a deep breath, then shook my head and forced a smile. “Nothing. I was just thinking,” I said, reaching out toward his arm. 

“If you say so, little miss.” He extended the appendage again and I drew my fingers over the high beams that had settled there during his shift. He flicked them on and off, as if to prove to me that they still worked the same.

His voice cut through my thoughts again and the concern there made me look up. “Y’bleeding, little miss. We should get ya to a drug store fer supplies.”

Worried, I lifted my arms to look at myself, bending and twisting (at the protest of my bruises) until I spotted a few brown spots on my shirt, leaking through from my undershirt. I arched my back and pulled my shirt away with a swear. “I—I didn’t have enough bandages. You should take me to an urgent care facility so I can get looked at.”

“Naw, I’ll get ya taken care of. Get inside and gimme a minute.”

After another loud and painful-sounding display, he was resting before me in vehicle mode, driver’s side door open. I climbed in and glanced through the interior—my things were sitting in the same place and I shook my head.

“So crazy.”

He was silent up until we were back on the main freeway, then he asked if I had something to write with and some paper. I rummaged through my purse until I found a pen and an old receipt, then wrote down the list of supplies he said I needed.

“You gonna walk me through surgery, too?” I muttered, looking over the list.

Peroxide, butterfly stitches, gauze, compression wraps, ice packs—the list went on. Was he trying to stock an infirmary or was I hurt worse than I thought?

_“Heh, naw, no surgery required.”_

I stuffed the pen back into my purse and I worried the bent corners of the crumpled receipt. “Are you sure I’m not hurt that bad? I mean, this is a lot of stuff. . . . It seems excessive for a few cuts and bruises.”

_“Jus’ coverin’ all the bases. Promise.”_

“How am I going to apply all of this by myself? I can’t reach some of the scrapes on my back.” I leaned in the seat when he took the exit too fast and veered around the turn.

 _“Could ask someone for help,”_ he suggested.

“Yeah,” I scoffed, “because that’s a normal thing to do.”

_“I could do it?”_

“With your big metal claws?” I was unable to keep the skepticism from my voice.

When he didn’t immediately respond, I wondered if I’d hurt his feelings and was about to apologize. However, he spoke; _“I can make it work.”_

Instead of arguing, I decided to move on. “How did you know I needed this stuff?”

_“Internet.”_

“That’s going to be your answer for everything, isn’t it?”

 _“Pro’lly,”_ he chirped, all cheer.

I rolled my eyes and sat back without another word. I stared at the grocery list of first aid supplies and contemplated what I was going to do when we stopped.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I ignored it.

*:･ﾟ✧

“Just stop at a Wal-Mart.”

_“Why? Drug store’s got all ya need.”_

I shrugged. “Yeah but they’re also expensive, and I want to pick up some other things. Wal-Mart will have a pharmacy where I can get this stuff you told me and they’ll have a bunch of other things I need if I’m going to be away from home for god knows how long. I didn’t have time to pack so I need to buy a few things”

_And I’m starving._

The chips weren’t going to cut it—I would need actual food with substance if I was going to make it out of any of this alive. Wal-Mart would have a deli I could buy real food from and if I needed, some sort of fast food joint.

_“Sure thing, little miss. I told ya t’pack though.”_

Sighing, I smiled ruefully. “I know. But. . .I don’t know, I was still freaked out and I wasn’t even coming outside to go with you, I thought you were my neighbor. . . . I didn’t want anything to do with you after what happened.”

He was quiet for a moment. _“Why?”_

 _Let me count the ways._ I rubbed at my forehead in thought. “I was attacked by a giant robot posed as a cop car. My car—the car my _mom_ had since she was my age—suddenly turned into _another_ giant robot. Did you know my whole side is a giant bruise? The last thing I wanted to do was go on some strange adventure with a strange robot.”

Once more he said nothing as he mulled it over. Long enough that I started to feel bad for being so blunt. I sighed and turned toward the dashboard. “I’m sorry—”

_“Naw is fair, little miss. Kinda happen pre’y quick, didn’ it?”_

I nodded. “Yeah. Real fast.”

When he next spoke he sounded more disgruntled, but he was also the most serious I’d heard him so far. _“I’m real sorry ya got hurt, though. I_ promise _that it won’ happen again. I swear it.”_

Unease churned my stomach but I smiled at the dashboard nonetheless, still unsure if he could see me. “Jazz, it’s alright. I didn’t really make it easy. . .I was freaking out and I didn’t know you were there to help me. I’m not saying it’s _your_ fault that I got hurt, just, don’t worry about it, okay?”

 _“Don’ matter. Won’ happen again._ ”

“I believe you.”

 _“We’ll stop in this city up ahead. Uh, Bozeman.”_ I recognized the deflection but didn’t press.

Bozeman? That was where Marie lived. If I wanted to, I could have him stop by her house so I could see her, but I didn’t want to drag her into any of this. In the end it would just bring up more questions I didn’t want to answer. I bit my lip and glanced at the dashboard where the clock was. The time read half past—wait. . .but. . .no that couldn’t be right. We had been driving for short of an hour, including the small detour when I’d asked him to stop.

It was a two-hour drive to Bozeman from Park city.

After shifting around in my seat a bit, I was able to pull my phone from my pocket. There were a royal fuck ton of alerts I continued to ignore. I pulled up Park City, Montana in Google Maps to find my way to Nevada. The app guessed it would take 15 hours and some odd minutes to drive all the way there, but when GPS calculated how fast we were moving, it approximated us arriving in less than that.

 _Eight_ hours. Half the time.

My eyes widened and I looked up at the speedometer. The dial was pointing to eighty, but that didn’t add up with how fast we moving toward our destination.

“Jazz, how fast are you going?” I demanded.

_“Fast ‘nuff.”_

“Jazz, I mean it.”

He chuckled and I could only imagine he’d be shaking his head if he wasn’t a car. _“Don’ worry little miss. We won’ get pulled over or nothin’. This isn’t even my top speed.”_

If he was trying to comfort me, he failed.

“How fast, pray tell, is your top speed?” Once the question was out, I regretted it.

 _“‘Bout_ _400, give or take. I ain’t even the fastest’a the Autobots.”_

My face paled and I unconsciously pressed my foot against the brake pedal. “That’s too fast, Jazz! Slow down!”

_“I ain’t gon’ hit no one, and I ain’t goin’ 400 right now.”_

“I’m more worried about _other people_. How’s your defensive driving? If someone breaks suddenly, or cuts us off? I just—we could really get hurt.” I moved uncomfortably in my seat, unable to say why hurtling down the road bothered me so much.

Would he be hurt if another car slammed into us? Did his armor protect against our alloys? Maybe we wouldn’t even feel the impact and come out unscathed.

Though, I could bet that the other person wouldn’t.

Whatever the case may be, Jazz seemed to understand. He fell quiet for a brief moment, and he started to slow down. The speedometer never dropped below eighty, and I assumed he made it stick there so I wouldn’t freak out. So I wouldn’t find out he was probably zipping over a hundred miles an hour down the freeway.

I closed my eyes in relief and sank into my chair a ways.

_“Sorry. We got time t’take it slow I s’pose.”_

A smile managed to flutter across my lips. It was without humor, more like relief. “Thank you. I’m sorry. It’s not that—”

 _“Naw. I get it.”_ His next words were much quieter. _“Yer parents an’ all that.”_

Though I wasn’t sure if he could see me, I nodded my head. I closed my eyes and tried not to let my emotions overwhelm me, then my eyes popped open and I stared at the dash. “My parents—you know how my parents died?”

Again he was silent, the only sound the purr of his engine.

“Jazz?” I pressed. I wasn’t sure why I was surprised, but his silence made me think he was hiding something. I chewed on my bottom lip, then voiced a concern. “Were you. . .there?”

Again he was silent, but it didn’t last long before he spoke. _“Ye’h, sorta. I wasn’t able t’help ‘em, bu’ I promise it ain’t gon’ happen to ya. I ain’t gon’ let nothin’ bad happen to ya, an’ tha’s a promise, little miss._ ”

Blushing, I shook my head. “Well, I mean, the people who hit them with their car. Like, they said that they lost control suddenly. Does—does that mean that. . .do you think they were hit by those um, the Decepticons?”

Again he said nothing for several heartbeats and I thought I could hear a faint buzzing. I opened my mouth to ask, but decided to stay quiet. Maybe he was checking on something.

 _“I dunno, Kat. Maybe. I’ll find out,”_ he said at last, voice sharper than usual.

Inside my chest my heart was beating like a drum. He sounded almost. . .defensive. Had one of those bad aliens possessed that car? Or, not possessed by transformed into it like Jazz did with mine? It made sense that if Jazz could do it, they could, too. Had my parents actually been killed by them? Or was it really just a freak accident?

Did he know more than he was letting on?

“You said you were going to stop somewhere? How much longer until we reach Bozeman?” I asked, rubbing my forehead. I didn’t know why he’d withhold information if he had it, so I dropped the subject altogether.

He considered my question, then said _“Not much longer. Within th’ hour, I’d say. Would be quicker if ya let me go my speed.”_

“Not a chance.”

_“A’ight, a’ight. . .you th’boss.”_

*:･ﾟ✧

Thirty missed calls. Ten voice mails. Fifteen text messages.

I sat back against the tank of the toilet I sat on. We’d pulled off the freeway at the first Super Wal-Mart we spotted in Bozeman and Jazz dropped me off. I wanted to deal with the repercussions of the situation, but now that I saw how many people I’d been ignoring, I kind of just wanted to continue pretending my phone didn’t exist.

But, in my heart of hearts, I knew that wasn’t the right thing to do.

So, before buying food—despite how freaking hungry I was—or anything else Jazz had told me to pick up, I hid in a bathroom stall to deal with the people trying to contact me.

All of the text messages were the same:

_Call me when you can._

_What’s up with you?_

_Please call ASAP!_

I skimmed through the messages, replied with the same stock message telling them that I was fine. Most of the messages were from Marie, but some were from friendly neighbors.

Whether or not I was actually fine remained to be seen, though.

At the very least the voice mails were as manageable as the text messages. Most were left by Marie from before I’d talked to her on the phone, so I auto-deleted about five of them. That left five more. The first one was from my boss.

 _“Hello Kathryn, it’s Sharon! Just checking in, there’s no need to call back, I just wanted to make sure you were okay._ _Hang in there. Talk to you in a few weeks.”_

Deleted.

The next two were from the police department, Sheriff Jensen himself. _“Kathryn Walker, this is Sheriff Jensen of the Laurel Police Department. I need you to please call at your earliest convenience. You aren’t in trouble, I promise. The number to call is—”_

Deleted. My hands were shaking.

 _“Kathryn Walker, this is Sheriff Jensen of the Laurel Police Department. We would like to talk to you about the incident that happened earlier this evening, so if you could, please call back at your earliest convenience. Thank you_. _The number is—_ ”

I took a deep breath and hit “call back”. This was definitely one of those things I couldn’t ignore. If I wanted any semblance of a life after this whole thing, I’d need to talk to the cops.

The phone rang three times before someone picked up. “Laurel Sheriff’s office.”

“Yes—yes hello I need to talk to Sheriff Jensen. This is Kathryn Walker.” My voice shook and I hunched over my knees, my head turned to the door. I wanted to know if anyone walked in and could overhear. So far the bathroom was empty.

“One moment please,” the receptionist replied. I didn’t recognize her voice.

After a little fumbling, the line went dead and was replaced with some hold music. I didn’t remember there being hold music, but then again I hadn’t ever really had the need to call the sheriff’s office before.

A brief moment later, the line was picked up again. “This is Sheriff Jensen.”

“Yes, hello! Sheriff Jensen, this is Kathryn Walker.”

“Ah yes, hello Ms. Walker. I understand you ran into a strange police officer earlier today around five o’clock in the afternoon?” he asked. Papers shuffled in the background.

I nodded. “Y-yes. Yes I did.”

“Can you tell me what happened after he pulled you over?” I was glad he didn’t sound accusatory, just curious.

It took a couple deep breaths to steady my nerves before I could speak. I had to remind myself to tell him the same story I told Marie. “Well I just—I was going to the grocery store. It—he pulled up behind me and turned on his lights, so I pulled over, y’know? And then he—he pulled up alongside me and just kind of. . .started. . .hassling me?”

“Do you remember what he said?” Jensen asked.

Shaking my head I said, “N-no. I don’t remember a whole lot. All I know is that I didn’t recognize him as any of your officers, and he was acting real suspicious, y’know? So I told him I didn’t believe he was, uh, a real policeman, y’know?”

He waited for me to continue, but when I didn’t he urged me on. “What happened next, Ms. Walker? Tell me everything.”

Shit, I hadn’t thought this far into the story. I’d been vague with Marie and now I had nothing else to offer. I floundered for an explanation, for something that would make sense. I was sure I sounded nervous, I just hoped he wouldn’t assume I was nervous because I was lying. “He continued acting weird so I told him I definitely knew he wasn’t a cop and drove off, then he chased me.”

Sheriff Jensen paused and I could hear him scribbling down the highlights of my story. I hoped he bought it, but I was certain that particular robot wasn’t going to be coming back to make an official statement. This story I was spinning would be the only story, and I tried to draw confidence from that.

Maybe eyewitnesses would have a different story, but as far as I could tell no one had been there on Cemetery Road with us.

Even if there was, unless they had pictures, no one would believe them about giant robots.

“What happened after he chased you?”

What did I tell Marie? I racked my brain for the answer, then just spit something out. “Well I finally pulled over at Cemetery Road and was really angry, okay? I knew he wasn’t a real cop but he had those stupid lights—I didn’t even know you could _get_ those! And a siren? How do you even?”

He sighed. “I don’t know. With the internet these days. . . . We’ll most likely need to press charges if we find him. Did he harass you any more after that?”

“No,” I huffed, lowering my voice and trying to calm down. The anger would make it more authentic, but there was no reason for me to _be_ angry. I had to control myself. “He just laughed after I finished yelling at him, told me it was a prank and to lighten up, then just drove off.”

“Okay. Can you describe the car and the officer to me?” he asked.

I nodded even though he couldn’t see. “It was like, a new Mustang or something. Normal, uh, decal and stuff. Black. Um—he was maybe in his mid-thirties? With a bushy moustache and big black sunglasses. I couldn’t see his face because of them. And he had a hat but his moustache was brown?” The details were fuzzy, but what did that matter? It hadn’t been a real person.

Jensen hummed his understanding. “Did you see his nametag or his badge number?”

“No sir. He never left the car during the whole thing, and I didn’t think to get the license, sorry.” At least halfway through the conversation I’d managed to stop my voice from trembling.

“That’s fine,” he sighed. His chair squeaked as he shifted. “I’ll call our neighboring towns and tell them to watch out for someone matching your description and the car. We’ll keep our eyes open, and maybe have someone keep one eye on the internet, in case he recorded it.”

He didn’t know that there probably would be no footage and I couldn’t stop the dry chuckle that slipped through. “Wouldn’t that just be great?”

“Well Ms. Walker, that’s all I really needed from you. I’m sorry I missed you at home though and we had to do this by phone.” He seemed sincere, and if he didn’t buy my story, he wasn’t letting it show. But why wouldn’t he? I’d never done anything to get in trouble in my life.

Except for the driving incident. . .but that was years ago.

“No—No that’s fine. I—I had to leave. There was. . . some family emergency with my relatives and they wanted me to drive down. Something—about my mom’s parents I think, so I’ll be out of town for a little while.” The words tumbled freely from my mouth without any prompting, but I was glad. I would need the excuse while I was gone for who knew how long.

Jensen’s chair squeaked again. “Is everything okay? I hope it’s nothing serious, that’s the last thing you need.”

I swallowed hard and forced a smile. People could tell when you were smiling through your voice, right? That’s what my mom always told me. Though that advice had been mostly for picking up the phone at work or calling about job interviews. “No, yeah. Everything’s okay, I think—they just need some papers or something signed or. . .something I don’t know.”

“If you think of anything more, please give us a call. Any more information you have will be helpful, alright Ms. Walker?” he said.

 _Like, oh say, the fact that I’ve been attacked by giant robots?_ I thought with an annoyed grunt. Instead I said, “I’ll do my best.”

“Don’t stay up too late driving, alright?”

“Of course,” I murmured. The door to the bathroom clattered open and I turned toward the noise, glad the conversation was ending. “I’ll probably stop at a hotel a little later, before I get too tired to see straight. Promise.”

“That’s probably a good idea Ms. Walker. You take it easy and drive safe, okay?”

“I will sir, thank you.”

“Have a good day now.”

“You too.”

I hung up the phone and released a shaky breath, leaning back and closing my eyes. My palm rested against my forehead and I took a couple minutes to still my heart. I’d managed to dodge at least one bullet this time.

The person inside hopped into a stall and I found myself holding my breath. While I waited for them to leave, I sat there and rummaged around with the various things in my own stall, trying to appear busy. I didn’t know why. When they finally did leave, I flicked through the rest of the voice mails. The last two were from neighbors, and I deleted those without listening to them.

Facebook I was going to avoid like the plague. Maybe for the rest of my life.

When I thought I was okay, I left the bathroom and called Marie to tell her the same story about visiting my grandparents—then I’d call the others. That should cover all of my bases. Hopefully Marie wouldn’t realize I was at a Wal-Mart ten miles from her apartment.


	6. Are we There Yet?

Jazz was still waiting for me in the same parking spot I’d left him in, forty minutes later. Guilt filled me at the thought of making him wait, but what was the hurry? I had loose ends to tie and things to do, and Nevada wasn’t going anywhere. He was lucky I hadn’t decided to call the National Guard to come and save me.

The way I figured it, though, he didn’t seem to mean me any harm. He’d been nothing but nice to me, and _patient_ while I came to terms with my situation.

Why throw all of that back into his face?

_“Hey, you back. Was beginnin’ ta think you’d try to run again,”_ he teased as I settled into the car and tossed my bags into the back.

His door closed once I was settled, my purse on the seat next to me. “Run where? We’ve already gone like a hundred miles. There’s nowhere for me _to_ go.”  Not that I hadn’t thought about it. Marie was only a phone call away, if not the authorities.

_“S’pose that’s true.”_ He pulled out of the parking space and headed for the freeway again. _“You get ev’rything ya needed?”_

Nodding, I motioned to the back seat. “Yeah, I think so. Everything on your list and a change of clothes. I ate while I was in there, too.” A Wal-Mart brand sub sandwich and a soda from the register fridge, nice and cold—unlike the cans sitting in the back.

_“Could’a ate while we drove.”_

Something about eating inside an alien entity gave me the creeps. It was already weird thinking about the fact that I was sitting in one at all, even if it _was_ as if I was sitting inside a regular car. Thinking about it made my head spin, so I shrugged and brushed it off. “I needed some quiet time by myself to think, anyway. Needed to make some calls.”

_“I gotcha. I’m’a find a place ta stop so we c’n patch ya up._ ”

“Okay.” I wasn’t sure how he planned to help me with any of that with those claw fingers, but I figured we’d cross that bridge when we came to it.

I reached back and fished through the bags until I found the charger I’d bought, one that fit inside the lighter fuse, and plugged my dying phone into it. I had a bag of fresh clothes to wear once we stopped the bleeding, and I’d bought a travel size toothbrush along with travel size toothpaste. My bladder was empty, stomach full, and I was feeling loads better about the whole situation. I had almost forgotten a crazy, killer alien robot had tried to squish me. Almost.

The sun had begun to set long before I’d made it out of the Wal-Mart, and with everything winding down I was beginning to feel exhausted. The painkillers I’d taken that afternoon were wearing off, so the aches and pains were coming back. I sighed and removed the half-empty bottle of Aspirin from my purse and popped a couple pills, washing them down with one of the cans of soda.

Miles later, Jazz pulled off the main freeway and down a bumpy country road. He pulled off in an empty field, far enough away that I couldn’t see any cars or houses. As far as the eye could see, it was open plains and dark sky.

“We’re gonna do this here?” I asked skeptically, stepping into the open with the bag of bandages and peroxide.

Next me to, Jazz transformed in a whirl of twisting limbs and metal. His torso turned 180 degrees, and he was facing me. The headlights on his chest illuminated the area and I squinted against the glare. “Ye’h, why not? Ain’t no one gonna see us out here. We’ll see any vehicle squarin’ up ‘fore they see us.”

I glanced around, unconvinced, but nodded. It would be easy to spot headlights, I guessed. “Alright, sure. So. . .how’re we gonna, like, do this?”

He fell into a sitting position with a thud, knees bent, and motioned to the space between his legs. “Have a seat and take off ya shirt. I jus’ downloaded a bunch’a files on human first aid, so I should be able t’handle this.”

_Take off my shirt?_

The simple request had my body temperature rising, but I quickly reminded myself that this was an _alien robot_. He was trying to dress my wounds, not gawk at my flesh. Still, I couldn’t help but to hesitate for several seconds before taking up a spot on the ground in front of him.

Still, I had other concerns. “You know, your fingers are kinda big.”

“Don’ worry ‘bout that,” he said, leaning forward and showing me his hand. The tip of one finger opened and a much smaller set manifested. It was a pencil-thin set of tweezers. “Gotta lotta small parts that need fixin’ sometimes. Can’t always wait for ol’ Ratchet to help when you on th’ battlefield.”

Taking a deep breath, I nodded and turned my back to him before removing my pair of shirts. The chilly night air made me shudder, and I hoped he’d hurry.

“So you guys have a medical officer? You don’t know how to do your own repairs?” I asked, trying to make conversation. It had been a mere few moments, but I was already shuddering so much it hurt my chest.

He grunted, “Y’eh. I mean, we c’n do small repairs, but Ratchet knows best on how t’reattach limbs or which parts fit in which ‘bot.”

“You can’t just, like, look it up?”

“Naw,” he chuckled. “Ain’t got an ‘internet’. We got databases, but still a lotta work to learn it all. Ya c’n look up how t’set a broken arm, right?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“But could ya do it?”

Stupid logical robot. I worried the edge of an open package of bandages. “No, I guess not.”

“Same thing here. Gotta have th’programming. Hand me a butterfly bandage.”

I obliged and he plucked the tiny piece from my fingers. The skin on my back tugged and I winced, but went to work pulling one over a deep, seeping gouge under my ribs. It was the only one I could see that needed it, the rest only needed regular Bandaids.

“Put that wrap there around this big bruise,” he said after a moment, gently brushing a finger across the ungainly miscoloration. I twitched away and pushed on his hand. “Hey, that tickles.”

Jazz snickered and I expected a zinger or more tickling, but he did neither.  

“Do it now?” I asked, holding up the compression wrap.

 “Naw, got a few more Bandaids here and—car!”

Panic paralyzed me for a moment, but Jazz wasn’t as stricken. He transformed in a whirl of parts and landed in front of me, blocking me from view. The heat from his idling engine chased away some of the shivers, but it only lasted until the car passed, then he was back in robot mode.

“Good eye,” I said, rubbing my arms. “Can we hurry?”

“Y’eh, gimme a couple more Bandaids, then ya can wrap up.”

Once I was all wrapped up like a mummy, I put on the old clothes after deciding to change in the morning. Some of the dressings would need to be replaced then, Jazz said, but he’d been able to patch up the worst of them with the butterfly stitches.

The good news was, I could change the wraps on my own.

Another car rolled up, but we were already heading back to the freeway. I was warming up in the seat, the heater blasting at full.

_“My bad, forgot the cold affects ya differently’n me.”_

“I’m fine. The heat feels good.” Never mind my fingers were a little numb. They’d defrost, and I already had them pressed against the vents.

We sat in silence for a little while, the radio playing faint songs in the background. We’d long since passed the signal of my favorite station, so Jazz synced with my phone and was playing my personal playlist.

I wasn’t listening, though. I was a million miles away, lost in thought. Now that my stomach was full and the pain killers had subdued the pain, I could think straight and wasn’t feeling so overwhelmed.

Of one thing I was certain: I wasn’t afraid of Jazz anymore. He’d made it clear he was a kind of interstellar bodyguard—or maybe a babysitter. Whichever.

It didn’t keep me from worrying. What if the realtor tried to call me sometime? I could maybe put off her call for a few days, but I needed to sell that house. Even if I did, though, would I be able to return to a normal life after all of this?

What about the government? Did they know about the aliens? I was certain they probably did, so how long until they tracked me down?

_“You a’ight little miss?”_

His voice interrupted the music and made me jump. I turned to stare at my dashboard, dodging his question with one of my own. “Why do you talk like that?” I asked, careful to keep my voice curious.

_“Like wha’?”_

“Y’know—like you do. Your, uh, choice of vernacular and. . . ,” I struggled to pull the correct vocabulary from the depths of my brain. I didn’t want to be rude. “style of, um. . .articulation.”

If he was offended though, he didn’t show it. _“Told ya already. I learned ya language off th’ internet. Ya culture’s so facinatin’, guess I couldn’ help but pick up a few things, y’know wha’ I mean?”_

My lips twisted into a sheepish grin. “Yeah, I guess so.”

_“Do it bother ya?”_

“No, no. Not at all. I was just wondering, that’s all. Just. . .used to movies portraying aliens as, like, more formal in speech. I didn’t expect an alien to sound so. . . .”

_“Human?”_

When he put it like that, it sounded bad. “Yeah. . .I mean I guess. I thought with you being a robot, too, you’d sound more. . . robotic. Like, ‘ _beep boop, I am a robot’._ ” It was a sad attempt at a robot impersonation, but close enough.

Jazz let out a rolling laugh and I couldn’t help but smile, too. _“Naw, naw. Nothin’ like that, little miss. Th’others might, though.”_

“Sorry,” I murmured. “I hope I’m not being insensitive.”

_“Naw, you a’ight.”_

Another comfortable silence settled in around us and the radio turned itself up. Or, I guess, Jazz turned it up to fill the silence. The dark world outside passed by as we cruised. We still had a way to go, but I was glad that Jazz was taking it slow instead of jetting along at break-neck speeds.

It gave me time to prepare for the oncoming meeting.

“How long have you been pretending to be my car?” I asked as the thought occurred to me. Of course, it led to a greater question, but I wasn’t sure I wanted that answered first.

_“’Bout three days now.”_

 Three whole days? I asked, “So whenever I’d go to my car, and it wasn’t quite where I’d left it, that was you leaving?”

  _“Ye’h.”_

“Where’d you go all the time?”

_“Patrollin’. Y’know, makin’ sure there weren’t no Decepticons lurking ‘bout.”_

It took another few seconds for me to work up the courage to ask the follow-up. Somehow I kept my voice even, if quiet. “What did you do with my real car?”

He hesitated in answering and my stomach flipped over itself. “Jazz?”

_“I’ll tell ya but don’ get mad, k?”_

“I can’t make that promise.”

Jazz was quiet for another few seconds, then he said, _“It in th’river ‘bout fifteen miles from where you was livin’.”_

My eyes closed and I leaned my head back against the seat rest, rubbing my forehead in soothing ciricles. I groaned loudly, but tried not to work myself up over it. After all, the car was old and I’d intended to purchase a different one eventually. “Oh Jazz. . .what am I supposed to do when all of this is over?”

_“I’ll be ya car! Until this’s all over, I’ll be ya guardian. Then, if ya want me t’leave after ya safe, I’ll stick ‘round ‘till ya get a new car,”_ he offered.

Sighing, I let my hand fall to my lap. He seemed genuine. “I’ll hold you to that.”

_“Autobot’s honor_.”

 The corner of my mouth twitched up into a begrudging smirk. “Is that supposed to be like a scout’s honor?”

_“’Cept more binding.”_

I leaned back in my seat and pulled my phone into my lap to play some games. “Why is it so important, anyway? Like, so what if they killed me? Not that I want to die, mind you, just. . .why go through all of the trouble for one human girl?”

_Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Kat. . . ._

_“Well,”_ he started, _“‘cuz we can’t let anything happen t’our potential allies. ‘Sides, he promised he’d get ya great-grandpa and his crew back to Earth, but they died, y’know? Then ya parents. . .he told me t’keep ya safe while we here.”_

I pursed my lips and fought back the wave of emotions and tears with a sniff. “Awful lot of trouble just to clear his conscience,” I whispered.

_“We protect life. You alive, right?”_ he said, even though I hadn’t meant for him to hear.

“You have the fancy scanners. You tell me.”

The car was filled with a light humming sound, though from our previous conversations I didn’t think the scanners made a noise—all evidence pointed toward Jazz being one for theatrics. _“Yup, scanners say you alive. We gon’ keep it that way.”_

Despite myself, I smiled. “Well, it’s appreciated.”

*:･ﾟ✧

_“Ya can get some sleep, y’know.”_

His voice was enough to startle me from my dozing and I jerked upright, glancing around. I hadn’t realized I’d almost fallen asleep. So he _could_ see me.

How, I had no idea.

For the most part I was accustomed to the whole situation now; the sound of his voice from the radio was no longer strange. It was also relaxing, not driving. It made it easier to think about and observe everything around me.

“It’s okay, I can’t sleep. What if someone sees?” I rubbed my eye with one hand. “I don’t want people to freak out.”

_“Naw we won’ get caught. It dark out an’ my windows’re tinted. ‘Sides there ain’t no one on the road,”_ he assured me. I was skeptical, but a glance out the window informed me he was correct—the freeway was basically deserted.

In order to keep me from arguing further, my seat fell back abruptly and I made an embarrassing sound of distress.

“Jazz!”

_“Sorry, didn’ mean ta startle ya.”_ I could hear the laughter in his voice. Jerk.

I sat up a little bit and frowned. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter anyway. I’ve never been able to sleep in cars. The seats don’t go back all the way and the back seat is always too cramped and tilted weird. And now I have all of these bruises. . .I’ll never get comfortable.”

He considered my complaints and then said, _“Don’ freak out, k? An’ don’t move too much.”_

“About what? Don’t move? I don’t—”       

My seat jerked and the rest of my sentence was replaced with a desperate gasp as I twisted around to see what happened. The seat continued to move and, fearing I’d be injured, I flattened out and drew my knees against my chest to make myself as small as possible. Everything was spinning and twisting, making a horrendous crunching sound of gears. I closed my eyes and waited for it to end.

At last, the seat fell back completely horizontal and everything fell still.

_“How’s’at?”_ he asked, sounding entirely too proud of himself.

I opened my eyes, chest heaving, then sat up and stared unabashed with my mouth wide open. The entire interior of the car had turned into a makeshift bed. The front seat and the backseats had been rearranged to lie flat and flush against one another.

Once the awe abated, I rounded on the dashboard and gave it a solid kick. “Jazz! Don’t you _ever_ do that again without a proper warning!”

He chortled. _“Sorry, sorry.”_

“I don’t think you are at all!” I prepped for another swift kick.

_“’Ey ‘ey! Now—no need fo’ violence. . .I promise I won’ do nothin’ like that again wit’out sayin’ somethin’,”_ he insisted, though I could tell he was trying not to laugh.

I certainly wasn’t convinced he meant it, but I decided that was as good as I was going to get. I huffed to myself and tried to settle into the bed he had made me—from the _kindness_ of his heart. Or whatever robots had. Power source? Whatever. I wasn’t tech support.

_“Sorry I don’t got no blankets,”_ he apologized, sounding more sincere this time.

“It’s fine. Running the heat will be good enough,” I assured him. I was still breathless from the rearranging event, but my heart beat was stabilizing on its own time. “How did you do this, anyway? Can you do it whenever?”

_“Pre’y much. Mean, my choices’re limited if I want my exterior t’stay th’ same,”_ he explained. “ _It ain’t no thang, though. Didn’t pinch ya or nothin’, did I?”_

“No—no I’m fine it’s just—it was weird. Really weird,” I muttered, lying back down on my side. The Stealth wasn’t big enough for me to lay flat and stretch out, but it was better than curling up in a half-sitting position. “You sure it’s okay?”

Jazz radiated confidence. “ _Ye’h. No one’ll  notice. Autobots honor.”_ I couldn’t help but roll my eyes and smile.

“How long until we’re there?” I asked, taking it at face value. If he thought that no one would notice that the driver of the car was sleeping but somehow not crashing, then who was I to argue? Above all, I _was_ tired. Who knew when the next time I would be able to sleep was, or what was coming in the future. I would need my rest.

There was a short pause before he answered. I assumed he was calculating or something. _“Well, we would’a been there pr’y early morning, but you made me drive at_ reasonable speeds _so. . . pr’y be there late morning ‘stead. Nine’r ten’r somethin’.”_

I set my head down on the two new shirts I’d bought and closed my eyes. “Okay. Well, don’t crash while I’m sleeping.”

_“Impossible.”_

Smiling, I closed my eyes and settled in, letting the heat from the vents lull me to sleep. “Good night, then.”

_“Night, little miss.”_

*:･ﾟ✧

Somehow, through the bruises and instant replays in my mind, I fell asleep. My dreams were wrought with giant robots, glowing eyes, and spaceships exploding. They were all short of nightmares by a small margin, instead falling into the realm of unsettling. I felt safe with Jazz, and after being emotionally drained by my parent’s death, I was too exhausted to stay awake.

I woke as the sun began to rise after a night of fitful tossing and turning in the cramped space. Each dream had pulled my from my slumber, it seemed, and each time Jazz asked if I was okay. He kept the car at a comfy and warm temperature, and it always soothed me back to sleep. The seats had been comfortable enough at least, but when I did wake up to greet the day, I was stiff and sore around my bruises and bandages.

After Jazz made certain I had slept long enough, I was blessed to take that _fun_ ride of twisting seats and whirring, clanking gears. It made me just as uneasy as the last time, but he took it slower instead of throwing everything together like he had before.

“Does that hurt?” I asked after sitting proper in the seat, belt clicked in around my waist. Something that noisy had to hurt, right?

_“Naw. I mean—changing yo’ clothes don’ hurt, do it?”_

“That’s not even close to the same thing,” I retorted. “I think moving my arm to my back and putting my head in my chest might hurt.”

Jazz scoffed. _“Tha’s ‘cause yo’ body ain’t meant to do it. ‘Sides, those humans called contortionists c’n do some crazy things.”_

“Yeah I guess so. But I’m not one,” I said, staring at unfamiliar scenery. “Where are we?”

He hummed in thought. _“We hit Nevada ‘bout twenty miles ago.”_

“What part of Nevada are we going to?”

_“Place called Tranquility. They’ll meet us there in the city outskirts. You need me t’stop before we go any further?”_

I shook my head. “It’s up to you. It’ll be rush hour soon. Might be safe to stop and wait ‘till it passes. Or, we could try to get ahead of the hordes. I’ve got chips and soda and some water, I’ll be alright for a little bit.”

_“Chips’n soda ain’t no real breakfast.”_

“Neither is cereal, but I’ve subsisted off that for years,” I countered.

_“Y’eh, but it’s a breakfast_ item _. Chips’re a snack. We can pull off when traffic gets bad’n stop at a IHOP or somethin’. Get you some real food.”_

The robot could certainly be stubborn, and he was driving. I wouldn’t have much choice in the matter. I sighed and shook my head. “You think I’m made out of money? I can’t be buying more food than I need. I have the chips—”

He cut me off. _“Ya bank account have more’n enough for a stop at a IHOP.”_

My eyes narrowed. “How do _you_ know that?”

_“I’m all seein’.”_

I glared at the dashboard until he gave me a real answer. _“My job ain’t just lookin’ pretty, little miss. Hackin’ in t’check ya balance was child’s play.”_

“That makes me feel _real_ confident in my security, Jazz.”

_“Naw naw,”_ he said, the car vibrating, _“Child’s play fer_ me _. Ya computer systems’re wide open compared t’Cybertronian systems.”_

Some of the uneasiness left at his assurance, but was replaced when I thought about the Decepticons. If Jazz could hack into my shit, then couldn’t they? When I voiced such concerns, though, Jazz told me they wouldn’t bother with it when they had bigger fish to fry—like looking for this AllSpark thing he kept mentioning.

And I kept ignoring it.

As I had expected, traffic was terrible once seven o’clock in the morning rolled around. I was tempted to devour some of the chips, but Jazz hid them from me when I tried to take them. As he said he would, he pulled off a the nearest exit and dropped me off at a gas station to change.

Once I was dressed and my bandages replaced, he drove me over to a nearby Denny’s—there weren’t any IHOPs in the area—and picked a parking spot.

_“Go eat.”_

Part of me wanted to sit stubbornly in the seat, but I _was_ hungry and he was hiding my god damn chips. So, though I glowered the whole time, I climbed out and headed inside. I was seated immediately and ordered some orange juice and some pancakes.

Jazz wasn’t there when I glanced out the window, and I wondered if he was on patrol. After his little “hacking” stunt I was still quite sore with him.

However, he was there when I was finished eating. I climbed inside, feeling less grumpy with a full stomach. He let me open the door and was off seconds before I closed the door. “That was pretty nice, I guess. Thanks for stopping.”

_“You nice’n full?”_

“Yeah, I guess.”

He merged with traffic and fell silent, frame buzzing with content. I rolled my eyes and settled in for the last half of the journey.

The road trip had been going on for a total of thirteen hours. We would have been there already, but between all the stops, being stuck in rush hour traffic outside a big city, it was slow going. It also might have helped if I let Jazz go his pace, but I didn’t feel comfortable at that kind of speed.

Both Jazz and I were not pleased with the commute, either.

_“Is it always like this?”_ he asked after we’d been sitting at a stand-still for over an hour. He revved his engine impatiently and the person in front of us just flipped the bird. _“Oh did he just—”_

I shook my head. “Ignore it. It’s only like this early on, and because we’re so close to a city. Once we get passed, we’ll be fine.”

However, he still grumbled irritably to himself.

“Are we going to be late to your meeting?”

_“Naw they won’ be here ‘till later tonight. We just gotta meet wit’ my ‘sociate and his charge before then,”_ he explained. At least talking seemed to take the edge off for him.

“There’s another one of you here? And they have someone to protect?”

_“Y’eh. Bumblebee and Sam. I don’ think they been introduced yet, so maybe wit’ another human to ‘sociate with he’ll take the news easier,”_ Jazz explained. I could just hear the music from my phone underneath his words.

“Ah,” I muttered with a sage nod. “So the game plan is me walking up and introducing myself, then telling him he should meet my new alien robot friend?”

_“The game plan’s whatever we make up on the fly, little miss.”_

I couldn’t help but sigh and rub my forehead. “I’ll come up with something. I never was one for flying by the seat of my pants.”

He chuckled at that, then growled when someone blared their horn behind us.

The conversation dwindled and it wasn’t long before my boredom grew out of control. At some point I finally asked Jazz to pull off so I could take care of hygiene, especially after the big meal. He was very accommodating, and if he was irritated by my bodily functions, he didn’t let it show.

Still, I tried not to take up too much time. I headed into the first gas station we found with my toothbrush and toothpaste I’d bought. I was in and out of the grungy gas station bathroom after ten minutes with clean teeth, and an empty bladder. Then I messed all of that teeth-brushing up by buying an iced coffee.

_“All set?”_ Jazz asked once I was safe inside his interior.

“Yeah,” I said with a nod.

We sat in silence for a little while and I played all the games I had to play on my phone by the time we moved out of traffic. At that point we had been delayed another hour and a half on top of the fifteen or so minutes I was at the gas station, and we still had one hour to go before we reached this Tranquility we were driving to.

“Wanna play the alphabet game?” I asked out of the blue. I felt a little bad for kind of ignoring him, so thought I’d find a way to involve him in some fun.

_“Wha’s’at?”_ he asked, turning the music back down.

Shrugging, I pointed out a billboard. “See that sign? It has the word ‘law’ on it. Which has the letter A. All you do in the alphabet game is try to collect all of the letters in the alphabet. You can either do it collaboratively or competitively.”

_“So—either we work together t’find all the letters, or first one to get them all wins?”_ he clarified. _“And I assume we gotta do it in order?”_

“Exactly. If it’s competitive, then you can’t use the same letter twice. So if I pointed out the letter A on that billboard, then you can’t call it out and use it.” I smiled fondly as I explained the rules, and was taken way back to old road trips to visit family or go on vacation. There was the road kill game, Eye Spy, Slug Bug. . . .

The alphabet game was a little less obnoxious than I Spy, and the road kill game was a little morbid. He couldn’t exactly slug me if we saw a Volkswagen Beetle on the road. I didn’t think I’d _want_ him to, either.

Jazz thought it over for a spell, then responded. _“Pr’y best t’play together. I pr’y got way better eyesight’n you and it wouldn’ even be close t’a fair competition,”_ he pointed out.

“Yeah okay,” I agreed, smiling. “You just let me get a few so I can feel like I’m helping out.”

_“You got it, little miss.”_


	7. Joyride

 

We gathered the entire alphabet a grand total of three times by the time we hit the Tranquility border. It was a much larger town than Park City or even Laurel. The outskirts were decorated with billboards and stadiums, and tall glass buildings loomed in the distance.

It was around ten when we reached the dead center of the town, where my driver said Sam was. We'd left behind the metropolitan area and exchanged it for a more modest suburb. There were still big buildings and many shops and restaurants, but it wasn't so industrial. More welcoming. Jazz pulled to a stop in an abandoned parking lot and cut the engine.

"What's going on?" I asked, sitting up from my slouch.

_"Gotta contact Bee. Figure out what up and where they at."_

I nodded and settled back into my seat. I pulled on the lever to lean it back and said, "Alright, then I'm taking a short nap while you figure that out."

He shuddered with a warm chuckle. _"Feel free."_

Though I knew I wouldn't fall asleep, it was still nice to close my eyes and relax. Even through Jazz' assurances, I wasn't comfortable napping in broad daylight while we drove. Someone would notice, I knew it.

At least if we weren't moving, it didn't matter who noticed.

It seemed like only ten seconds later Jazz's voice woke me up, but the clock told me that my nap had lasted twenty minutes. I stretched my arms, making my spine pop in a few dozen places, then rubbed the sleep from my eyes.

"So, what did you figure out?" I yawned.

His frame vibrated. _"Nothin' good. Bee tried'n contact Optimus'n the rest last night. It hard getting' a signal out ta th'others on the ship in space, so he had t'get somewhere high. Had t'transfrorm. Sam saw him."_

"I imagine that went well."

_"He, ah, got arrested."_

Lips pursed, I shook my head. "How in the world did he manage to get himself arrested? Was he causing a disturbance?"

_"Bee had t'break into a junk yard, Sam was caught runnin' 'round."_

Poor guy, caught in the wrong place. "So what is Bumblebee gonna do?" I asked.

_"He on his way back t'Sam's house. Gon' see what he can do 'bout damage control."_

I sighed. "Oh goody."

He pulled out of the parking spot and moved several blocks down to another gas station. This one was huge—it had a million spots to fill up gas tanks and even advertised showers. The pumps nagged at the back of my mind, but I couldn't place why.

_Oh._

"So, any of those times we stopped on the way here, we didn't fill up with gas, did we?" I asked, watching a teenager with a huge truck fill up his tank.

_"Naw, I got m'own energy source. Could still use yer fuel, but it like junk food for me."_

"Ah, okay. I guess that kind of makes sense." I didn't know much about his species, but at least he had the patience to explain sometimes. Though I still found it strange they didn't need to top off. And they were machines—living ones, sure, but wouldn't they need tune-ups or whatever?

I figured it was Ratchet's job and waited for an explanation for why we had shown up at the station. When he didn't offer one, I asked. "What are we doing here, anyway?"

_"We gon' wait for Bee's word. Why don' you go do human things 'fore we meet 'em?"_ he suggested, sounding a smidge uncomfortable. I stifled a grin.

I didn't want to be left alone in a city I knew nothing about, but I needed a shower and to change some of my bandages. They weren't bleeding through, but during sleep I'd loosened the compression wrap and it needed to be reapplied.

"Will you be around?" I asked, reaching for the shopping bag with my stuff in it.

" _Ye',h 'course I will be."_ He agreed a little too quickly. I ignored it and climbed out of the car with a brief goodbye to him.

*:･ﾟ✧

The showers and bathrooms were easy to find and the place wasn't busy. It didn't seem like a big tourist town, so the only ones there were probably people passing through on their way to bigger and better places.

I had to buy a small bar of body soap, a washcloth, a towel, and two-in-one hair shampoo, but I didn't mind much considering I hadn't even expected to shower at all. There wasn't much dirt but there _was_ a lot of dried blood from wounds I hadn't managed to clean very well. I had plenty of spare bandages for the leaky scratches.

Everything was set up like at a public swimming pool; lockers and shower stalls. I was usually against changing in front of a bunch of people, so my clothes were nearby and ready after I'd towel-dried off.

Remaining hidden in the stall, I slipped into a pair of comfortable leggings—designed to look like denim jeans—fresh socks, sneakers, and another white tank top. I had a shirt to wear over it, but I needed to put on more bandages and there were no mirrors in the showers. So, I set out to the lockers to find a mirror.

For now the dressing area was empty, so I had to be quick.

The wrap was firmly in place after a few seconds, but there were other parts of me that needed new bandages. It was a blind miracle that I hadn't gotten a black eye or something: the last thing I needed was for people to think someone beat me. There was only so much I could cover up with makeup, and a big shiner wasn't one of them.

And I didn't have concealer—or any makeup, really—with me anyway.

While I was poking at the large black bruise semi-hidden by the wrap, another lady walked in. The sound of the door creaking open startled me and I jumped three feet in the air. She gave me a concerned and then disgusted look and I sheepishly put down the tank top. My face burned.

"Car accident," I quipped, feeling the need to put her mind at rest. Maybe then she could stop staring at me.

"Sucks," she muttered, ducking into a stall.

I waited for her to lock up and then poked at the bruise some more. It wasn't swollen and the skin still felt firm, so I figured it was all cosmetic. I placed new bandages on the scabbed-over scratches and slipped on a loose tee over the white tank top. It hung around my shoulders, revealing a few of the butterfly stitches.

After brushing my teeth I decided I needed to fix my hair. I headed back to the floor, bought a hair brush and some clips, and fixed up my usual messy bun.

One last glance at my reflection, and I was headed back outside. I checked my phone and winced: I'd been in that gas station for almost forty-five minutes. I hadn't meant to take that long, but I was used to spending a decent amount of time on my appearance.

When I walked outside, Jazz wasn't anywhere to be seen.

Shocked, I stood there for a few seconds, looking for him, then did a quick lap around the station. Nothing. He was nowhere. Had I taken too long? Had he actually ditched me? _Would_ he ditch me? My breaths came quicker and tears pricked my eyes.

He'd left me. He said he would be there, and now he was gone. I was alone in a town I didn't know with no transportation.

Who would I call? How would I explain it? Robbed? I could swing that. . . .

I stood there for the longest time, trying to decide what to do or who to call, when a silver car screeched to a halt in front of me. At first I thought it was Jazz, but it wasn't a Stealth. It was newer model of sports call, the Pontiac insignia gleaming between rounded headlights.

The horn blared and my heart leaped into my throat. With a muted sound, the window rolled down to reveal an empty cab.

_"Don' jus' stare. Get in!_ "

My mouth fell open and I took a deep breath. "Jazz?" I asked tentatively.

_"Who else would it be?"_

Relief flooded through me and I moved around the back, glancing at the silver letters that read "Solstice". As soon as the door was closed and I was seated he pulled away from the gas station onto the main street. I ran my hands over the pleather seats and admired the interior for a moment. "Why did you—how did you. . . ?"

_"This's more my style. Didn't have nothing like it in tha' backwater town o' yours."_

I huffed indignantly. "Well _excuse_ me."

_"Aw, naw sorry little miss. I didn' mean it like that,"_ he quickly backpedaled. _"The Stealth wasn't so bad but this—this is just so smooth and fits my size better."_

Sighing, I rubbed my forehead. "It's fine. I guess it's true. But how?"

_"Same way I did the Stealth."_

When I didn't reply and stared blankly at the dashboard, he continued. _"Oh. Ye'h, I jus' scan it'n figure out how it's configured'n then replicate it exactly. Gotta rearrange things a l'il bit, bu' It's easy for us Cybertronians. Yo' tech ain't so different. Primitive, but ain't so different."_

Primitive, he said. "Well I'm sorry it took me so long in there."

_"It ain't no thang. We in no rush. Well—kinda. Sam saw Bee snooping 'round his house and freaked out, then ran for it,"_ he explained with a heavy sigh.

"I did too when I first met you, remember?" I remarked, peering out the tinted windows.

_"Ye'h, then I had t'kidnap ya."_

Despite how it sounded, I smiled. "So why didn't Bumblebee do it to this Sam person?" I tried not to sound bitter. I mostly succeeded.

_"Bee can't talk so good. Would'a been harder f'him to explain what's goin' on."_

With my head tilted I asked, "Why can't he talk?"

_"Got hurt in battle. Ratchet ain't been able t'fix his voice processer yet. He c'n still communicate via internal comlinks, but tha' don't help Sam."_

"I can imagine it wouldn't. So what's the plan then? Are we gonna hunt down Sam?"

_"Y'eh. Gon' try t'intercept him. Maybe you c'n calm him down."_

"I'll do my best." I had a few things in mind for what I was going to say, but I hadn't been thinking about it much. Still, if I was going to make this whole transition easier, I had to give it a shot.

*:･ﾟ✧

I zoned out and stared at the city as we passed it by, noting all the big name stores that I didn't have at Park City. There was so much within the area—no driving ages to pick up groceries, go clothes shopping. . . . My entire family seemed to like living in smaller towns. "Small town charm" they said.

More like "I really like to gossip." Living in a small town sure made _that_ easier.

When Jazz suddenly put on a burst of speed, it pulled me from my thoughts and I sat up, looking around. "What's going on?"

_"Bee chased Sam under a overpass. We right on top of 'em, hold on."_

There wasn't much to hold on to so I braced myself against the seat as he accelerated and turned a corner, tires squealing. A yellow car, an old Camaro, was coming down the opposite way. If I hadn't known better I would have thought we were going to collide, but both cars stopped with a couple inches between bumpers.

It was uncanny how accustomed I was becoming to seeing cars without drivers.

"Is that. . . ?"

_"Bumblebee,"_ Jazz confirmed.

The name fit him. The yellow car had black racing stripes, and as close as we were I could see a bee-shaped air freshener hanging from the rear-view mirror, next to a miniature disco ball. It made me wonder if they picked out their names when they came to Earth. I leaned forward while they spoke, or whatever they did to communicate, looking for this Sam kid.

However, I didn't even know what he looked like.

Movement far in the distance caught my attention and I unbuckled my belt so I could lean forward and get a better look. It was a hulking figure, running. . . .

My eyes widened and I fell back into my seat. "Jazz! Jazz it's the cop!"

His tires squealed as he backed up swiftly, and Bumblebee pulled forward with us before pulling a u-turn. He didn't have near the turn radius Jazz did, and it was a tight space, but he still managed.

_"Put on yo' seat belt."_

I did as I was told as he followed Bumblebee around a winding path through the underpass. I could hear cars above us, but it was drowned out by the screech of tires and crash of junk cars as Barricade pursued Sam. My knuckles were white as I held on to the wheel, tense while Jazz navigated around the trash and scrap.

The seatbelt strained as I leaned forward, scanning the area. "C'mon, c'mon, where are they?"

Bumblebee led the way, charging ahead. Somewhere in front of us a car went sailing through the air and I knew we were close. After careening around a support structure, Barricade barreled into view, running for two teenagers gathered together on the road.

"There, there!" I shouted, though I was sure they could see them just fine.

Bumblebee made a sharp turn, spinning into Barricade and knocking him off of his feet. He rotated and pulled up beside the two. I assumed one was Sam, but he was with a chick that no one had mentioned yet. Bumblebee's door opened expectantly, but to my (not) surprise, neither of them jumped at the opportunity to climb into the self-driving car.

They were far more interested in arguing about whether or not to get inside, and Barricade was recovering. I threw open Jazz' door and leaned out of it. "Get in the car you idiots!" I shouted at them, leaning over Jazz's roof.

Both stared at me, bewildered, but another human telling them what to do was enough. They scrambled to their feet and the kid I assumed was Sam—unless maybe it was short for Samantha and it was the girl? No, no Jazz had definitely made it sound like it was a guy we were looking for—helped the girl up and they both climbed inside of Bumblebee.

_"Kat!"_ Jazz warned.

I turned toward Barricade. He was rolling back to his feet while Bumblebee took off, so I ducked back inside and Jazz slammed the door. Before it was closed all the way, he was lurching forward after his comrade, I turned as far as I could to look out of the rear windshield. Barricade was back in vehicle mode and was giving chase.

"Gotta lose him," I muttered.

_"I know! Sit'own!"_

His urgent tone had me whirling around forthright, sitting straight. I buckled up and braced myself for the chase.

We took uninhabited back roads until we made it to a deserted industrial yard. Warehouses and empty buildings lined the streets around us, and the old road was covered in loose rocks. Every few seconds I was being tossed around, and it didn't help that when Barricade caught up on a straight path, he'd ram us. Jazz always lost him around a corner, his turn radius superior with his smaller frame.

He fishtailed on dirt and headed straight for the side of a building with a massive window.

"Where are you going? What are you doing? No—no Jazz, no!" I let out a short cry as first Bumblebee charged through glass into a warehouse, then Jazz. Bumblebee's passing left us an opening, but the landing threw me all around the cab.

"Dammit, Jazz!"

_"Sorry."_

The warehouse had nothing but support beams and tarps in it, and the two Autobots crisscrossed around each other before turning a sharp 180 and shooting past Barricade. I rotated at the hips to watch him as he slammed on his breaks, attempting to pull around as well, but a pillar blocked his path and he came to a sudden stop. The squeal of his breaks echoed behind us.

I lost sight of him as we found an exit to the building, and we maneuvered further and further into the industrial district until we were certain that the not-cop hadn't followed us. Then, Jazz and Bumblebee pulled up next to each other so their driver-side windows were parallel.

As my window rolled down, Sam was already leaning out of his own, eyes bugged and breathing erratic. "Who are you? What the hell is going on!" he demanded. "Why is that cop a robot?"

It took a minute for me to wrangle the strap before I could lean out the window. "It's alright! We're safe for now. You just gotta calm down, okay? I know it's a lot to take in, I know you're scared, but these guys," I swept my hand over the Camaro and Jazz, "they just want to help, okay?"

Sam leaned further out of the window until I was certain he was going to fall and pointed toward the horizon. "What was that thing!"

Next to him, the girl hung on the edge of our conversation.

All of the scenarios I'd played out in my head went wrong at this part of my speech, but it had to be done. I took a deep breath and pressed my lips into a thin line. "An alien."

He stared at me, mouth open. The girl in the seat next to him asked something I couldn't hear and he turned toward her. "An alien! She says it's an alien!" his voice cracked somewhere in the middle and I couldn't tell if it was because of puberty or because of the hysteria. When he turned toward me, he didn't look any calmer. "Are you serious right now? An alien!"

I rubbed my forehead and sighed. "Look—we can't talk about this here, okay? I can explain—they can explain everything, but we gotta—"

A sudden, wailing siren interrupted me. Sam and I turned away from each other to look down the road and there he was—Barricade, hurtling down the street toward us with his lights flashing and sirens blaring in anger.

"Shit! Go!"

I pulled my head back into the car and Bumblebee moved forward first, leaving Jazz to turn and follow after him.

"This guy doesn't give up," I muttered.

_"You got no idea,_ " Jazz sighed.

"What is his deal, anyway?" I turned to see him following closely behind.

Jazz turned on a dime, splitting off from Bumblebee. _"Decepticon scout. He was sent t'help find th'AllSpark, then pr'y had to find out why I was hanging around ya."_

"What's he doing—" My shoulder collided with the door and I grunted. "Ow! Here?"

_"Found out 'bout th'glasses."_

"Glasses?" I snorted. Barricade pulled up to our side, seconds from ramming us.

My robot companion slammed on the breaks and the belt stopped me inches from hitting the steering wheel, jarring my breastbone. "Jazz! You have a fucking _passenger_!"

_"Sorry!"_

"Why don't you just fight?" I snapped, leaning into another hair-pin turn. The glasses were forgotten for the time being.

We were up on two wheels as we whirled around a boarded-up building. At that point I wished he'd just drop me off somewhere, but it did what he meant to: ditched Barricade. _"Too much collateral here. Gotta find a open space. Gonna try'n lose him—th' less exposure humans get t'us, th' better."_

Made sense, but it would have been done and over with a lot quicker if they would double-team the hell out of Barricade and end it.

Would mean I spent less time being jostled and thrown about, too.

We hit another straight away and I looked around frantically for Bumblebee and his passengers, but they were nowhere to be seen. Barricade had left to chase after him, giving me a bit of a reprieve from the Destruction Derby driving Jazz was doing.

"Where'd they go? Where are they?" I squawked, spinning around as far as Jazz' interior would allow, trying to spot a glimpse of anything familiar.

_"Think I lost 'em too good,"_ Jazz muttered, sounding more proud than chagrined.

"Well un-lose them!" I demanded.

His engine roared as he sped down the road. Over the sound of his acceleration, a high-pitched wail rang. Not quite as obnoxious as a fire alarm, more like a beep that you couldn't find the source of. Jazz slowed down to a less-scary speed and patrolled toward a power plant of some kind, a sprawling field beyond.

_"Lemme know if ya see somethin',"_ he requested.

Nodding, I sat up tall and searched for the yellow Camaro or the black police Mustang. What I found was a tall, yellow robot out in the open.

"There, there!" I pointed and slapped the steering wheel.

Barricade beat us to the spot. He charged Bumblebee in his vehicle mode, transforming into a powerful leap that took Bumblebee to the ground.

_"Show time_ ," Jazz smirked. The gravel under his tires crunched as he picked up speed. We fishtailed ineffectively for a second, but he pulled forward all the same, veering off toward the field and the battle. Sam and his lady friend—a girlfriend, maybe?—were running from some skeletal-looking person-sized robot and I leaned forward.

"What is that?" I hissed.

_"Frenzy!"_ Jazz hit the brakes, my seatbelt released, and the door on my side opened. _"Tuck'n roll, little miss."_

"Excuse me?" I shouted.

Jazz didn't give me any choice. His seat dumped me unceremoniously onto the ground with a sudden tilt. He was moving slow enough that I didn't break anything, but my leg twisted on the landing and I stumbled to my hands and knees with a vicious intake of breath.

"God _damn you Jazz_!" I snarled, picking up a handful of dirt and throwing it at him. "I have _fragile_ human anatomy, you know!"

Of course he was too busy fighting or something to apologize.

_Oh but he will_ , I thought bitterly, struggling to stand before running toward the two teenagers fleeing from the robot. The limp from the fall didn't help my speed or stamina.

"Hey! _Sam_!" I shouted. He glanced back and the Frenzy-thing used the opportunity to leap on top of him, throwing him to the ground. His lady friend kept running while he tried to kick the person-sized robot off of him. I grimaced and hurried to rectify my mistake. Somewhere behind me, Jazz transformed with the increasingly familiar ring of metal.

I stopped running and looked around, trying to find something to use, but found only rocks and dirt. It wasn't much against a robot with armor, but it was the best thing I could come up with. I picked up a softball sized stone and hurled it at the robot.

It hit a leg and Frenzy screeched, turning to look at me. I froze where I stood, as if for some reason I thought it wasn't able to see me if I didn't move. Like a dinosaur.

_Stupid, stupid._

"Walker!" it chirped.

The distraction was enough. Sam turned and landed a powerful kick to the thing's chest and it was sent sprawling. He scrambled to his feet while it recovered and ran toward me shouting, "Go! It's going to kill us!"

He reached out when he made it to me and grabbed my shoulders, spinning me around. "Run, run!" he shouted. I glanced around for Jazz, but he wasn't anywhere within eyesight.

Frenzy bounced to his feet. He screeched a challenge and leaped toward us, moving like a demonic lemur on steroids. With Jazz not around, the courage dropped out from under me and I let Sam drag me away.

It was faster than it looked. We didn't make it thirty yards before it jumped on top of us, shoving us through a weak chain link fence and down a steep hill. I rolled until I hit another fence at the bottom of the incline and scrambled on all fours across the ground. When Frenzy jumped to land on us, he hit the fence instead. Giving himself a shake, he rounded on the person closest to him—Sam.

"Witwicky!" He spoke in fits and starts, like his voice modulator didn't quite work the way it was supposed to.

Adrenaline temporarily drove away the pain in my leg.

I scrambled upright while Sam shoved the robot away from him. I lunged forward, grabbing Frenzy and yanking him around. The momentum had me stumbling backwards to stand next to Sam. Frenzy thrashed where he lay until he regained his balance, then pistons in his legs pumped before he sprang toward us with a mighty leap.

Before I could stop it, a scream left my lips and I cringed against Sam, holding my arms out. He shoved me aside and I stumbled along the fence. Frenzy clawed at him, cheeping in that strange way of his. "Witwicky! Walker!"

Out of nowhere, a power saw sliced through the thin metal and wiring of Frenzy's arm. The small mech screeched and Sam's lady friend hacked away at it a couple more times.

His head detached from his mangled body and I relaxed against the fence in relief. Frenzy babbled in his own language and Sam crouched forward. "Yeah, not so tough without a head, huh?" he taunted before taking a few swift steps forward and punting the head back up the hill. Frenzy screamed the entire way.

"Good kick," I panted.

Both of the teenagers rounded on me and I pressed against the fence again, looking between the two. At first I thought maybe they were angry, but they just looked like frightened deer.

"Who are you?" Sam demanded, lifting a hand to point at me.

After swallowing the lump in the my throat, I said, "Right—um, my name's Kat. I'll explain everything but. . .let's find the cars, and then go somewhere quiet, okay? It's a long. . .long story."


	8. Calling all Cars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not 100% in love with this chapter or the next, to tell the truth. If any of you have any ideas on how to improve the chapter, let me know. I don't know if it's just because these scenes aren't that great in the movie, or if I just can't get the right tone or feel. . . . I'm not really sure what's wrong with these chapters, just that I'm not feeling them. So any suggestions will help me further revise them!

 

Jazz and Bumblebee waited for us at the crest of the hill, stepping into view. I headed up to meet them, favoring my right leg, but stopped when I realized Sam and Mikaela weren't following me.

"They're not going to bite, c'mon," I assured them.

Still they hesitated, but I huffed and left them there to contemplate the existence of aliens. Jazz parted from Bumblebee to allow him to communicate—somehow?—and kneeled down in front of me. "'Ey, good work on Fren—"

I put my hand up to cut him off and glared at him. "Don't talk to me, I'm angry with you." Somehow I managed to keep my voice low; I didn't want the others to overhear.

He leaned back and blinked. "Wha'—why're you. . . ?"

Though I wanted him to think I was hopping mad, my anger was luke-warm at best. "Well, maybe because you ejected me from a moving vehicle?"

His internal mechanisms buzzed and he rubbed the back of his head in another display of mannerisms he'd picked up from the internet. "Ah. . .well I'm awful sorry 'bout that. I—I wasn' thinkin' I guess. Got 'cited for a brawl. That why ya limpin'?"

"Yes," I grumbled, crossing my arms and turning my back to him like a petulant child.

"Aw, I'm sorry little miss. . .I really didn' mean ta," he mumbled, scooping me up and surprising me. My arms flailed for half a second until I was certain I wasn't going to fall. "Thought I slowed down enough an'. . .I'm awful sorry."

Any other attempts at seeming irate seeped from my body. The sincerity in his voice melted the false, hard shell I'd crafted. I sighed and pat his hand. "It's fine. It's not that bad. Just uncomfortable."

"I said I wouldn' let ya get hurt again'n then I—"

Again I cut him off. I took a breath and smiled. "I said, it's fine. You just gotta remember how squishy I am."

"Ye'h. A'ight."

Though he didn't sound convinced, he put me down and transformed into his vehicle mode, door open and waiting. Sam and Mikaela were beginning to climb into Bumblebee, having come to a conclusion at last.

_"Where we goin'?"_

"Have them pick somewhere to eat, my treat."

 _"A'ight."_ He was still beating himself up over the whole thing. I actually felt bad for making _him_ feel bad. I wanted to say something that would reassure him, but found myself unable to come up with anything convincing.

Jazz relayed the message and Bumblebee led us out of the district and back toward the meat of town. In the meantime, I tried to formulate how I was going to explain it all.

*:･ﾟ✧

Tranquility was a warm, beautiful town in the suburbs. The city had a quaint charm about it, not too much bustle but lively all the same. There were plenty of trees, green and manicured. Park City had a few nice yards and greenery, but was mostly full of tumbleweeds and dying grass. And dirt.

The weather was warm enough to warrant eating outside of the McDonald's Bumblebee led us to. All three of us were worn down and bruised from the fight, but presentable enough to be out in public. I'd offered to treat them all to whatever they wanted as an act of good will. Sam was ravenous and bought twenty chicken nuggets, but Mikaela had already eaten. She still ordered an ice cream cone.

"So you like, _own_ Bumblebee?" I asked, poking at a glob of ketchup with a fry.

"Not like, y'know, like a _slave_ , or anything. I'm just saying like. . .I _purchased_ him. There was an exchange. . .of money, that's all! I don't _own_ him!"

I quirked an eyebrow and stalled by taking a sip of the Pepsi I'd bought. "I know what you mean, calm down," I murmured, setting the cup back down on the table. Defensive little twerp, this Sam Witwicky.

He leaned back and waved a nugget in my direction. "Well good 'cause. . .you were giving me that look, y'know?"

"I didn't give you a _look_. This is my face."

We'd been sitting outside of the McDonald's for close to an hour, trading stories and introductions. Just like Mikaela, I wasn't hungry enough to order a real meal and had sufficed to an order of fries. Mine had long since gone cold, just as I imagined Sam's nuggets had.

Mikaela Banes was one of Sam's classmates from high school, and it seemed she had been in the wrong place at the wrong time when Barricade had attacked. Because of that, she was under the protection of Bumblebee the same as Sam was. I could tell Sam wasn't that torn up about it, and the way he looked at her had me assuming he was crushing pretty hard.

Unlike me, however, Sam didn't have a car that the Autobot could replace. Bumblebee had instead finagled himself into a position where he could be bought while Sam was out car shopping. I didn't know how he pulled that off, and I didn't ask.

Once Bumblebee had insinuated himself into Sam's life, that was when Jazz was supposed to reveal himself to me. In the long run it had worked out even though Barricade had made the introduction about ten times more painful than Jazz had first intended. The result had ended up being close enough—Jazz "convinced" me to be on board and now I was doing what was intended: making sure Sam was on board too.

Though I imagined the original plan was to convince my father, not me. He worked for the government and was in a better position than I was to help them.

But that was just another wrench in their hilarious, poorly-thought out plan.

"What do we do from here?" Mikaela asked, glancing over her shoulder to where the two Autobots were parked. Not only were we sitting outside to enjoy the fine (hot) Nevada weather, but it also made it easier on the two mechs to watch over us.

I sighed and sat back in my seat, rolling the last fry between my fingers. "We have to meet the rest of their team, I guess."

Sam leaned forward and swallowed his bite. "And when's that gonna be?"

Shrugging, I turned to Jazz where he sat in the parking lot. He couldn't particularly answer, though, so I wasn't sure what I was expecting. I lifted my hand and tapped on my wrist as if there was a watch there.

His lights flashed and I sighed.

"What?" Mikaela asked.

I spun on the bench and crawled to my feet. "Gonna go ask him real quick. I'll be right back."

Even with my back to them I could still feel their eyes following me, eliciting tension in my shoulders. I knew they were lost, but so was I. They were looking to me because I was the adult, even if I didn't feel like one. Sure I wasn't in high school anymore and I had a job and responsibilities, but that alone didn't make me very "adult".

Up until a month ago, I had still lived with my parents. Still relied on them to house and take care of me. I was an adult that depended on bigger adults.

It felt weird having people only a few years younger than me looking for the answers.

There was nothing about it that I liked.

Jazz' door slammed behind me as I sat down, staring at the dashboard. I wasn't sure where else to look when I spoke to him. "What?" I asked gently.

_"They'll be here after dark. Still got some time t'kill."_

Great. I had to play entertainer for a while longer. "Where are we meeting them?"

There was a brief pause before he answered. _"Dunno. Don't got exact coordinates for where they gon' land, just that it gon' be somewhere in town."_

I frowned. "Hopefully not in the middle of the city?"

 _"Uh, pr'y not._ "

Sighing, I tilted my head and rubbed my forehead. "Let me guess, they're going to do their best. How long has it been since you were last able to contact them?" Might as well talk about something that didn't stress me out.

_"Yesterday."_

Oh boy. I pressed my fingertips into my temple and closed my eyes. "So how do you know, exactly, when they're going to be here?"

He chuckled and couldn't keep the amusement from his voice as he responded. _"You don' think we c'n estimate a time frame when we gon' be landing? We eons 'head of yo' planet'n technology. Ya do remember that, don'tcha?"_

I grimaced. "Oh. Yeah I guess you're right. Sorry."

_"Naw, don' worry 'bout it."_

"No no, I'm just so stressed out right now. I didn't mean to be snippy."

 _"I said don' worry 'bout it, little miss,"_ he insisted. _"Go back out'n see if you c'n pry some info 'bout the glasses. Convince the kid to hand 'em over. Try'n reach somewhere high to contact 'em."_

Nodding, I climbed back out to join Sam and Mikaela at the bench and relay what I'd been told. I wanted to correct him about him being a kid, but I figured I had to choose my battles with these aliens. It wasn't a battle worth choosing.

"What he say?" Sam asked.

Sitting back in my chair I said, "Not until night falls. Also he was asking about a pair of glasses."

Sam turned white as a sheet and leaned forward over the table, his voice reduced to a harsh whisper. "Glasses? The ones I put on eBay? The ones that the insane cop was demanding I give him?"

"Y-yes?"

"What about them? Why do they want them? Are they worth a lot of money because I have been trying to sell them for months now and no one will—"

"Sam!" Mikaela chided.

He leaned away again, his knee bouncing up and down in a staccato pattern. "Sorry."

I looked between the two and shrugged. "I don't know that well, myself. I just know they think they'll help find their, uh, power source or whatever."

"Well how would an old pair of glasses do that?" Mikaela asked.

Shrugging, I tossed my hands up. "I have no idea."

"Okay," Sam said, tearing chunks off his nugget box. "I'm not handing over anything until I get the whole story. Not even to giant, killer robots. So, so, I want to talk to someone who's in charge, or something."

"That's. . .perfectly fine? I don't really care, Jazz just said to ask about them."

"Well, I have them. Somewhere. Probably at home maybe. Should we go get them now?"

We turned to look at the two cars and I sighed. "I don't know. Probably not. We can just figure it out after we've met with them. Maybe it'll wind up being something they didn't need after all."

After all, how important _could_ a set of spectacles be?

*:･ﾟ✧

Night fell on Tranquility as we made our way to whatever predetermined meeting place the Autobots had set up. Jazz led the way with Bumblebee bringing up the rear, Sam and Mikaela safely inside. Jazz was a two-seater car, so we separated for the time being. I didn't particularly want to sit with them, anyway. They were decent people, though Sam was a little twitchy, but I felt weird talking to a couple of teenagers.

I was still in the habit of pretending to drive, and when I glanced back at the rear-view mirror, Bumblebee's headlights were no longer there. I checked all of my mirrors and my blind spots, but I couldn't spot the yellow Camaro.

"Where'd they go?" I asked, the beginnings of worry needling at my mind.

Jazz was silent a moment or two, then replied. _"Dunno. Sure they'll catch up, though. Bee c'n take care of himself."_

It was a deflection, but I let it go anyway. "If you say so. How will you know when your friends land?" I didn't doubt that Bumblebee could take care of himself and the other two, but I found it odd they would take off on their own like that.

 _"We'll know, any minute now._ "

That I raised my eyebrows at, but when I opened my mouth to ask for clarification, a bright light shot across the night sky. It fell close and looked huge. I leaned forward in my seat to watch it's progress across the darkened horizon. Buildings rose up to meet it and the sound of the impact reached us despite the distance.

"Shit, what was that?" I gasped. When I scanned the sky, I could see a few more distant balls of flames: the Autobots swathed in our burning upper atmosphere.

 _"Tha's them. They gon' meet us when they find local camouflage,"_ Jazz assured me.

When the burning fireballs stopped falling, I leaned back and ran my fingers through my bangs, pushing them from my eyes. Someone was going to see those things. How long until the government showed up to investigate? Why hadn't they already?

"You mean when they find cars to transform into?" I clarified.

_"Zactly."_

I took a breath and returned to "driving". I rolled my eyes and said, "I hope they didn't squish anyone. You guys sure know how to make an entrance."

_"Heh. . .ye'h seems some'o our calculations were. . .off."_

"Some super advanced race of aliens you are," I mocked, smirking at my dashboard.

For a moment I tried to wrack my brain for instances of meteors in the past couple of months, something that would tell me when Jazz and Bumblebee landed on Earth. I never watched the news, though, so even if they had covered such a story, I wouldn't have heard about it. I thought maybe I remembered a customer mention something, but I paid their small talk little attention.

Probably for the best. If I figured it out, then I'd stress out about how long the Decepticons had been on Earth, too.

*:･ﾟ✧

After fifteen minutes of driving around, Jazz turned down an alleyway and came to a stop next to a brand new Camaro parked by a dumpster. It was the same canary yellow as Bumblebee with black racing stripes. Sam and Mikaela climbed free.

 _"Guess tha's what they was doin',"_ Jazz observed.

Shaking my head, I unbuckled and swung Jazz' door open. "Because it matters how shiny your camouflage is, right?" I couldn't keep the sarcasm from my voice.

Jazz chuckled. _"Don' be jealous."_

I rolled my eyes. "How could I be jealous when I'm in an equally shiny car?"

_"Point taken."_

The door closed of its own accord once I was out. I approached the two and nodded toward the Camaro. "How'd a teenager like you afford such a nice car?" I called, grinning.

Sam and Mikaela turned to look at me, then Sam glanced at the newer version of Bumblebee. He chuckled nervously and rubbed the back of his head. "Uh—yeah you didn't know? Trust fund. . .or something. Insurance pay out. . .maybe?"

Mikaela and I both shook our heads at him. She said, "Good save."

Engines roared nearby and I tensed, pressing closer to Jazz. It wasn't long after that before a few different vehicles rolled into the alley, surrounding us. When Jazz didn't jump into fight mode, the uneasiness left me and I relaxed. All the cars were much larger than Jazz or Bumblebee; a garish Search and Rescue Hummer the color of acid, a massive semi-truck with blue paint and red flames, and a black GMC pick-up truck.

"Yeah those forms aren't ostentatious or anything like that," I muttered sarcastically, fingers digging into my scalp. "You're all going to blend right in!"

I took a moment to check the surrounding buildings. Windows with lights. Great. Hopefully no one thought to see what all the hullabaloo was about out in the alley. Maybe we'd be lucky and no one would be home.

Sam and Mikaela moved up to meet the robots and I stood by Jazz, intimidated by the sheer size and presence of the robots. The heavy-duty long-nose truck pulled up before us and transformed first and was finished before the others started. The way he held himself and moved, it had to be their leader. It had to be Optimus Prime.

None handled themselves with the flair that Jazz did. Soon as I heard the clicking and grinding gears, I hobbled over to stand by Sam and Mikaela, but still hung back a bit while Jazz finished his breakdance transformation, then moved back to his side.

These two teens might have been full of child-like wonder, but I had seen enough sci-fi movies to know that meeting an alien race wasn't all fun and games. I was having a moment of doubt, considering that maybe I had been tricked and _these_ were the bad guys. I didn't know what their end game would be, though, and I brushed the thought aside as quickly as it came.

Optimus' proto form was a mech with a confident air, his chest painted with the red flames of his alt mode. He was a good ten feet taller than Jazz was, and I was starting to realize that my guardian was the smallest Autobot present. The GMC was smaller than the semi-truck by a few feet, but built like—well, a truck. The Hummer I assumed was Ratchet: he had chosen an ambulance for camo, after all. Who else could he be?

Bumblebee was the second smallest Autobot next to Jazz, and it was even more apparent with the three other behemoths around. Even Barricade was smaller than the new arrivals, so I was beginning to wonder which height was "average".

The Peterbilt kneeled down so he was at eye-level with Sam and Mikaela. I refused to leave Jazz's side, content to wait. They could acknowledge me when they felt the need.

Jazz bent over and nudged me with a finger. "Why you so tense?" he whispered.

All I could do was shake my head and watch the robots, rubbing my fingers together. I had no real words for how I was feeling—overwhelmed was a good start, but it wasn't just that. Maybe I was a little scared, maybe things had gotten too real. . . .

"Are you Samuel James Witwicky, descendant of Archibald Witwicky?" The Autobot that addressed Sam had a deep and powerful voice, confirming my thoughts of him being Optimus.

Mikaela whispered something to Sam, but he ignored her and stepped up to meet the robot face to face. He answered, sounding about as nervous I felt. At least he wasn't being yelled at by a giant robot, like I had been. "Yeah?"

Then the big bot turned his head to look straight at me. I quailed and leaned toward Jazz. "And are you Kathryn Walker, descendant of Captain Sam Walker?"

Sam and Mikaela turned toward me expectantly, along with everyone else. I just nodded, a nervous and jerky motion. "But you can—call me Kat," I replied, my voice breaking and forcing me to clear my throat halfway through.

Carefully, Jazz encouraged me with a tap on the back.

Nodding, the mech straightened to speak to us all. "My name is Optimus Prime. We are autonomous robotic organisms from the planet Cybertron," he explained. At some encouragement from Jazz, I walked up to stand by the other two humans.

"Have you been briefed by Jazz and Kathryn as planned?" Ratchet asked.

"Yeah Kat told us all about you," Mikaela offered, nodding her head in my direction and offering a small, lopsided smile.

My face flushed and I glanced around, worry slithering up my spine like icy fingers. There was zero reason for me to be freaking out, but I couldn't stop the uncertainty from planting a seed in my mind. They were so _big_.

However, everyone just nodded their approval.

Optimus indicated to Jazz. "Good, then you have already met my first Lieutenant, designation Jazz. I am pleased that Kathryn was able to meet with you early enough to brief you on the situation. There is more you should know, though."

They spoke in the formal manner I would have expected, but it made it harder for me to feel comfortable around them like I did Jazz.

A crash startled me as Jazz jumped backward to land on a decrepit old car in the alley. He lounged there on the vehicle with his arms crossed over his chest. Apparently being a first lieutenant gave you the right to chill and hang out during meetings.

He gestured towards the black GMC robot. "This is my weapons specialist, Ironhide."

Ironhide lifted his arms up and twirled a set of cannons mounted on his forearms like a gunslinger's flourish. "Do you feel lucky, punk?" he asked us dramatically. Sam leaned back a little, like he thought he was actually going to be shot. I shifted my weight from foot to foot, also not keen on having cannons pointed in my direction.

"Easy, Ironhide," Optimus warned.

The over-zealous robot took the whiny, defensive tone of a little kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Just kidding. I just wanted to show them my cannons."

They were slowly but surely breaking all of my expectations.

"Our medical officer, Ratchet," Optimus continued, leaving Ironhide to himself.

The robot I had correctly nailed as Ratchet stepped forward and a light flashed over us. "Kathryn is functional but has sustained several superficial contusions and lacerations. Samuel and the girl are largely uninjured save for a few abrasions."

Jazz' engine made a strange whining sound and I fought the urge to comfort him. "Had a rough last twenty-four hours," I muttered.

"Your wounds?" Optimus asked.

I lifted my shirts high enough to reveal the compression wrap and forced a smile. "Jazz made sure I was taken care of."

He turned to his medical officer who nodded. "Crude and unprofessional, but sufficient."

With a grunt Jazz said, "I know a thing'r two."

Optimus moved the meeting along with a sweeping gesture toward the bright yellow robot standing by Sam and Mikaela. "All of you have already met Samuel's guardian and our scout, Bumblebee."

Bumblebee started shadow boxing, bouncing on his feet and jabbing at the air. Muhammad Ali's voice blared from his speakers. _"Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee."_

"You're a scout? Like recon and stuff?" Sam repeated.

 _"Check out the rep. Yep; second to none."_ Bumblebee nodded. I didn't recognize that particular sound clip.

Ratchet turned to him and pointed a red laser at Bumblebee's throat. He leaned over, coughing hoarsely; it seemed odd to me. "Still having issues with your vocalizer? I'll work on it more." He tapped his tool a few times with a bulky finger.

"So what do you guys need from us?" Mikaela asked, turning to face Optimus.

"We are here to find the All Spark, and we must find it before Megatron," Optimus replied solemnly. The name sounded absolutely ridiculous, but so did most of the names these robots had. At least Bumblebee kind of made sense, and Jazz had picked his own name, but what about the rest of them? Ratchet sounded like a mechanical tool so it kind of made sense.

Ironhide—maybe because he was tough? Optimus Prime was out of left field, then you had Starscream and Barricade and now Megatron. I guess, though, Kathryn and Samuel and Mikaela might have been weird names for them, too.

Or maybe they didn't care at all and I was being an idiot.

"Kat said he's the leader of some other group of robots," Sam confirmed, glancing over at me. "But what makes you think he's here?"

The weapons specialist made a backfiring sound. "Robots."

Optimus lifted his hand to his temple and pressed it, producing beams from his optics. A scene was projected around us like an elaborate and realistic hologram. The floor cracked soundlessly around us, taking me by surprise. I hopped over a fake crack that appeared in the ground, afraid it was really opening up beneath me. Jazz was next to me in a second, arm held out to steady me when I stumbled.

"Easy, little miss."

My face heated when I realized I wasn't in any actual danger and I stood still, shoulders hunched. I really needed to relax before I developed an ulcer or had an aneurism.

"The AllSpark is our power source. We owe our very existence to it. Its energy sustained us and even the planet itself," he began. "Our world was once a powerful empire, peaceful and just, until we were betrayed by Megatron, leader of the Decepticons."

The hologram became more elaborate and the scene changed to show what had to be Cybertron. Complicated and advanced buildings sprang up around us.

Above hovered the corner of a magnificent and electrified cube: the Allspark.

"He sought to possess the AllSpark for his own twisted purposes. All who defied him were destroyed. Our war finally consumed the planet and the only choice I had was to propel the AllSpark off-planet, losing it to the stars.

"Megatron followed it to Earth, where Captain Witwicky found him," Optimus continued, letting the hologram flicker out of existence.

"My grandfather," Sam breathed in disbelief.

"It was an accident that intertwined our fates. Megatron crash-landed before he could retrieve the Cube. Somehow, Captain Witwicky accidentally activated Megatron's navigation system. The coordinates to the Cube's location is imprinted on his glasses."

"And you found out about them through eBay?" Sam clarified.

Optimus turned to him. "Correct."

"eBay," Sam scoffed, glancing at Mikaela.

"If the Decepticons find it first, they will use it to transform Earth's machines and create a new army," Ratchet offered, clenching a fist.

"Then the Human race will be extinguished," Optimus added with a sage nod. He stood up tall and looked down at us all. The rest stepped up to form a ring around us. "Sam Witwicky, you hold the key to Earth's survival."

Mikaela leaned toward Sam and whispered, "Please tell me you have those glasses."


	9. Won't be Pretty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like with last chapter, I'm not really feeling this one. If anyone can point out what's off about it, I'd appreciate it! I've been staring at it too long to really know where to start. I think it might be the interactions everyone has? The situation? I mean the situation is pretty stupid to begin with but I wasn't sure how to change it without completely destroying the source material but hey if that's what it takes, let me know that too lmao.

 

Sam swept his hand in my direction. "What about her? She didn't go into very good detail and I don't understand why she's here. No offense," he added, glancing at me.

I shrugged. "I told you. . .I'm related to someone they met."

Excuse me if I didn't want to sit and try to explain the death of my parents to a strange pair of teenagers I just met.

Ratchet nodded his head. "Her great grandfather, Sam Walker, was once an ally. It was not long ago in your Earth years—I believe it was at the same time a ship named the _Apollo_ launched that they were sent into space."

My brows knit together. "Apollo? That was, um, 1960, um. . . ."

"1969," Sam recited. At least someone paid attention in their history class, unlike me.

"Yeah, that. Wow, I thought it was longer than that." I tried not to let my embarrassment show. History had never been my thing, I was more of an "independent study" type of gal.

Optimus turned his gaze to me. Glowing blue lenses for eyes, just like the rest of the Autobots. So it really was that easy: blue-eyed Autobots and red-eyed Decepticons. "After Megatron was discovered by Captain Witwicky, he was taken captive by your government and frozen. Using technology made from reverse-engineering Megatron, they made a ship capable of spaceflight."

Mikaela shook her head. "But we already did back then, you said so yourself. We went to the moon and back."

"Not short trips, real space travel. They figured out how to use sun's gravity to slingshot through the stars and travelled through a wormhole. They stumbled upon a galaxy where we and the Decepticons were warring. Eventually a firefight started. In order to save me, Captain Walker and his crew fired upon the Decepticons' current leader, Starscream, and severely wounded him. Starscream destroyed their ship, killing all aboard."

Jazz finished the story. "We decided she an' her family might be potential allies. I was sent to make friends'n win 'em over. Her pops worked for th' gov'ment, so he'd have knowledge'a shit."

Ironhide shifted his weight and shook his head. "Unfortunately we weren't able to make contact with her parents. We believe Barricade, or one of the other Decepticons, killed them. Though we do not believe it was entirely on purpose."

My heart dropped and turned part way to Jazz. "What do you mean?"

"Their mission was most likely to capture all three of you when they realized you were under our surveillance. Perhaps they didn't realize how fragile your species is and used too much force," Ratchet explained, voice grave. "They do not have the regard for life like we do and know only to use violence to take what they desire."

I took a deep breath to keep the tears at bay, but it was a losing battle. "No—no they were in a car accident with other residents of my town. They couldn't have—what are you even saying?" I babbled, looking desperately to Jazz.

He leaned down and held his hand up behind me comfortingly. "I replaced ya car, remember? It was probably a Decepticon in disguise, trying to incapacitate ya parents."

Sam and Mikaela turned to me, horrified.

"Oh my god, you didn't mention—I'm so sorry," Mikaela offered, taking a step toward me as if to offer comfort. I took a step back, skirting Jazz' hand, and lifted my own. She halted, but seemed torn.

"Please," I breathed.

Optimus paused, as if trying to decide if he should continue, then went on anyway. "I had promised to escort your ancestor and his crew safely to Earth so they could warn your planet about our war and Megatron, but I failed them. I had hoped to offer the same protection to your family, but it seems I was, once again, too late."

Barbed words burned at the tip of my tongue. I longed to lash out, to accuse and attack. Bitterness tightened my chest, then it guttered into resignation and defeat. Guilt chewed me up from the inside out: I'd been so awful to the Richards and it wasn't even their fault.

Jazz brushed his fingertip in a soothing stroke down my back. "Real sorry, Kat. They was just faster this time."

An outlet presented itself and I pulled away before rounding on him. "You _knew_?"

He leaned back in surprise and glanced around him, as if for backup. "Well—well I wasn't hundred percent, but I thought it possible—"

"Jazz, you. . . ." I reigned myself in and closed my eyes. I didn't have the energy to summon the rage I thought the slight deserved. Ever since my parents died, I'd wanted to scream and shout at someone I could hold responsible. In my heart of hearts I knew it wasn't Jazz. He hadn't don't anything wrong. Technically.

Withholding information was still a crime punishable in court, after all.

But this wasn't a court. I had to keep myself from releasing my pent-up emotions on those that didn't deserve it. Eyes clenched, I turned away and pushed my fingers against my forehead. "Nothing. Never mind. It's fine."

"There will be time for this later," Optimus interjected. I was glad for it. "We need the glasses."

He nodded and motioned toward Bumblebee. "Yeah, yeah—right. They're at my house. We'll go get them now and you can find your All Spark thingy and then I can go back to having a normal life."

Normal. Sure. Like that was going to happen.

"Once you have them the Decepticons will leave me alone, right?" Sam asked.

"That is something I cannot promise. But Bumblebee will continue to be your guardian as long as the Decepticons are still at large," Optimus promised.

Sam nodded and said, "Good enough for me. Let's go."

My so-called guardian spun into his alternate mode and waited for me to climb in. I hesitated, considering whether to ask for a ride with someone else or not. I didn't want to seem petty, though, so I climbed in.

_"Kat, I didn' mean t'keep details from ya. I jus' wanted t'be sure."_

"I said it's fine," I murmured, slouching and sulking where I sat.

_"Ya forgive me?"_

I chewed on my bottom lip, then sighed. "There's nothing to forgive. I'm just. . .upset, is all. Not at you, per se, just in general. I'm stressed and irritable and—I just want to sleep for three days and take a really hot bath."

His frame shuddered. _"We shoulda left ya well 'nuff alone. Ya parents'd be alive, you'd be at home an' safe."_

There it was again; the guilt at making him feel bad.

"It's alright. I mean, I wouldn't have gotten attacked by Barricade, sure, but. . .I also wouldn't have gone on this, um, exciting road trip. And, and I certainly wouldn't have gotten to learn that there are aliens out there. That's, uh, pretty neat." I didn't know who I was trying to convince more.

None of those things were lies, I was just undecided about whether they were worth all the pain and mental exhaustion.

_"I'll find a way t'make it up t'ya,"_ he promised.

*:･ﾟ✧

I'd spend the better part of the past twenty-four hours in a car and my body was somewhere between fatigued and charged with energy. I was itching to get out and walk somewhere, stretch out and be free of the cramped space. I didn't count the six or seven minutes where I was running from a maniacal, chattering marionette or the fifteen minutes I'd stood and stared at Optimus and his crew. Maybe after all this was over I'd take up jogging.

It had been proven several times over that I was in shitty condition to be running for my life. Maybe I should have picked up jogging a lot earlier.

For a while, Jazz and I just sat in silence as we headed for Sam's home. I gave up pretending to drive, figuring that it was dark enough that no one could see. I couldn't drudge up the will to care if anyone _did_ see, anyway.

_"You. . .feelin' better?"_ he asked at last.

I sighed and turned to the window, my arms crossed over my chest. "I'm fine."

_"Anythin' I c'n do fer ya?"_

"Nope," I quipped, refusing to look at the dashboard. "I mean, you don't need to _do_ anything. I told you, I'm not mad at you. I'm just. . .mad in general."

He was silent for a couple minutes before he spoke again. I wished he would let me stew in my own juices for a while, but on some level I appreciated his effort. _"Says here tha' talkin' wit' a friend c'n make someone feel better. Y'wanna talk? Cuz, we been talkin' a bit but you never say nothin' 'bout yer parents'r nothin'."_

Finally, I shifted my attention from the window to his dashboard. I rubbed my eye and sniffed loudly. "It's fine, Jazz. Maybe. . .maybe later, but not now. Just know I don't blame you, okay?"

_"A'ight, but tha's not wha' I'm worried 'bout."_

Sighing, I leaned back in my seat and just nodded. "I told you. I'll be fine. I've just gotta process this new information so. . .just don't worry."

Jazz grumbled in the affirmative and fell silent, turning the radio up so there was background sound to fill the gap in conversation. He changed the station to an appropriate calm station, the volume reasonable. It brought the smallest of smiles to my face, knowing how hard he was trying.

But I wasn't ready to talk. Not yet.

Bumblebee lead the way to Sam's house with Optimus close behind. Jazz and I were between him and Ironhide, with Ratchet bringing up the rear.

None of it made any fucking sense to me.

They were supposed to be _blending_ in. How was this blending in?

All of them had picked the newest and shiniest car they could find, and I couldn't figure out why. I had to assume it was because they were the most advanced vehicles on top of looking the best. Maybe they weren't comfortable in older cars.

Or maybe they were just shallow. I didn't want to ask.

On top of all the shiny brand new cars, people were bound to notice a huge diesel truck and a Search and Rescue Hummer cruising around.

Ironhide and Optimus didn't have particularly quiet vehicle modes, either. This whole thing reeked of terrible planning and a lack of common sense, and I voiced my thoughts to Jazz as we moved closer and closer to residential areas.

_"What would ya suggest?"_ he asked, not unkindly.

I shrugged and waved my hand in their direction. "I don't know, do you _all_ have to come and get the glasses? I'm sure just Bumblebee would be sufficient. We could all just hang out, y'know, separately? Where we won't draw attention? And then he and Sam can bring you the glasses."

_"Sure, I'll run it by Optimus. I'm sure he'll see yer point."_

The two of them, or maybe all of them, had a conversation amongst themselves. I focused intently on the back of Optimus' cab. At the very least he wasn't toting a giant trailer. After a few minutes, he broke off from the group. Ratchet turned down a street going the opposite direction soon after, and Ironhide parked himself at a store front.

_"See? We reasonable 'bots."_

"Seems that way, yeah. Thanks, by the way. I don't think we need an escort to Sam's house. I'm already worried someone knows you're here."

_"Like ya gov'ment?"_

"Yeah."

_"Ye'h, pr'y do."_

My brows furrowed and I crossed my arms over my chest. "So they _do_ know you're here."

His engine made a nervous revving sound. _"Well, ye'h. Yer gov'ment's primitive but it ain't stupid. They know we here. Bee'n I had t'avoid 'em when we first dropped."_

I twisted and turned in my seat, expecting a hoard of helicopters to bear down on us at any minute. "Are you _serious_ right now? And you didn't think to mention this at any point in time? Not even a little warning?"

_"Aw, Kat. . . . It wasn't 'portant. They ain't gon' find us."_

"Yeah, sure, okay. If you say so, except you all fell from the sky in giant fireballs. How exactly did this 'avoiding' incident happen, anyway?"

_"Bee'n I came t'Earth together. He was s'posed t'find signs of the AllSpark, I was s'posed to track down allies—yer father, really. Bu' anyway we felt the Spark's energy'n went t'investigate. Seemed yer gov'ment learned to replicate its energy signature an' it was all a trap."_

A red light stopped us in our tracks. I said, "You got away though, obviously."

_"Ye'h. Starscream an' some o'his Decepticons were there, though. Pr'y one o'the only reasons we got away. They was tryin' t'capture us, pr'y t'experiment on us like Megatron."_

He pulled forward and Bumblebee led us into a neighborhood. "So they know you guys."

Jazz said, _"I guess, but don' worry 'bout it. Tha' wasn't anywhere near here an' we look like different cars now."_

"You all just crash-landed here in Tranquility. I'm sure they know you're here."

_"Then we just gotta hurry 'fore they catch up."_

"I guess," I muttered, unconvinced.

We reached Sam's house and Bumblebee pulled into the tight space of a driveway next to the building. It couldn't even be called a driveway, really. It was more of a dirt-covered space between his home and the neighbor's, separated with a fence. The real driveway was in front of the house, occupied by presumably his parents' cars.

There was the faint sound of a barking dog behind the walls, but I thought maybe I was imagining it.

Sam turned in his seat to say something to Mikaela, then crawled out of the Bumblebee-Camaro. I didn't move to get out even as Mikaela climbed from her spot to stand outside, then approached my side of Jazz.

"Stay here and wait! I just need five minutes!" he requested, tapping on my window.

"Ok," I resigned, settling into my seat. Didn't seem like a ridiculous request.

"Just wait five minutes!" Sam added to Jazz. He ran off into the depths of his back yard and disappeared between some trees. Mikaela stood by Bumblebee's still-open door and leaned on it, watching him go.

"You hear that?" I asked, patting my dashboard. "In five minute you guys'll have those silly glasses and can find your Spark thiny."

He chuckled. _"S'good. We found 'em before the Decepticons. Tha's all that matters."_

I leaned back and took a deep breath. "Do you really think there's some sort of map printed on his glasses? It's been like, forever since that happened, or something. What makes you think it survived all this time?"

_"S'only lead we got. Gotta give it a try."_

"I guess so." I shrugged.

A loud engine roared behind us. I frowned and turned to look, only to have my heart plummet. Optimus pulled up, turning into the small space behind Bumblebee.

"Jazz, Jazz what the hell? What is he doing here?" I whispered, though I wasn't sure why.

_"Dunno."_

As if I believed that for a moment.

The Autobot leader transformed back into his proto form and took slow steps towards the house. Trees gave us cover on either side, but they certainly weren't taller than Optimus was. I leaned forward, my mouth open, and shook my head.

"No! No, no! Wait, what is he doing? I thought we decided they'd hang back and we'd meet up when we had the glasses! Jazz," I hissed through clenched teeth, "tell him to stop and wait!"

His frame shuddered and he declared, _"He ain't listening, little miss."_

Mikaela whirled around at the sound, ducking as Optimus stepped over her. Bumblebee underwent his own transformation before following his leader into the backyard. I heard a faint crash and groaned loudly, rubbing my face with my palms. "Oh my god Jazz, why? Why why why."

It wasn't much longer before Ratchet rolled into view, following the pack around to the back. Mikaela whirled around, arms raised slightly above her head, and then she jogged after them, shouting something I couldn't make out. I looking around to see if I could spot Ironhide, but he wasn't anywhere to be seen.

I knew it was only a matter of time, though.

"Jazz, stop them!" I pleaded, holding my hand out in a wild gesture toward them. I wasn't about to remove myself from his interior, figuring that so long as I was inside him he couldn't transform and walk into the yard. "You guys are going to get us all into serious trouble if you're seen!"

Jazz sighed and I could hear some of his internal gears shifting. _"I was tryin', but Optimus's is determined to get th'glasses. Kinda hard t'talk t'him when he's like this."_

Parts of the vehicle around me started to relocate and whir.

"Jazz what are you doing? _What are you doing_?" I demanded, gripping my seat like a vice.

The floor beneath me split open, and my chair tilted downward. When my seatbelt released, I was dumped unceremoniously to the gravel driveway, unable to cling to the seat.

_"Jazz_!" I snarled indignantly, pushing myself back to my knees. It hadn't been a far drop, at least.

Still, it wasn't helping my current injuries and I'd already told him not to do it before.

"Sorry little miss." He helped pick me up from the ground, then turned and headed for the backyard where everyone was having their stupid meeting. "I'll do what I can t'get 'em out."

Groaning in exasperation, I stood on the side of the street for a moment and cursed the lot of them and their lack of patience. They'd been searching for thousands and thousands of years for the All Spark. You think they could have waited five more minutes.

It didn't matter how dark it was outside. Someone saw. I could feel it in my gut.

I marched up the path and into the backyard, where all manner of muffled crashes and stomping could be heard. Masters of disguise my ass.

Mikaela was running towards Sam, who was facing Ironhide with something that looked like a little dog under his arm. Ironhide was towering above the two, pointing his cannons at Sam, or the dog. I couldn't tell which.

Where the hell had Ironhide come from?

And _why_ didn't they have any _patience_?

"You have a rodent infestation. Shall I terminate?" Ironhide asked with a gruff grunt. I ran up on the other side of Sam and saw what was in his arms: a Chihuahua with a broken leg. I'd be mad at a little rat-dog like that, too.

"No! No, no. He's not a rodent. He's a Chihuahua. A _Chihuahua._ We, we _love_ Chihuahuas, don't—don't we?" Sam asked, turning to Mikaela and I.

Even though Mikaela nodded mechanically, I just grimaced. "Chihuahuas suck."

Sam gave me a betrayed look and leaned away. "Kat—Kat you're killing me here. You're literally killing me right now."

"He's leaked lubricants all over my foot!" Ironhide insisted with a non-committal snort, still pointing his whirring cannons at the small dog. The Chihuahua didn't seem to be fazed by the giant robot looming above him and his owner.

"He—he peed on you? Bad! Bad Mojo! _Bad Mojo_!" Sam scolded the dog, shaking him at Ironhide's foot.

"Bad Mojo!" Ironhide chided as well, stowing his cannons.

I closed my eyes and rubbed my brow. "Is this happening? Is this for real? Is this real life?" I muttered to myself.

Mikaela put a hand on my shoulder. "Hey, are you alright?"

It startled me, but I tried not to show it. I looked up at her and pulled my hand away from my head long enough to respond. "Oh yeah. Totally fine. Maybe having an aneurism out of sheer stupidity, that's all."

She looked legitimately concerned and I had to stop myself from laying down on the ground, curling up, and dying. "I'm joking."

"Oh."

"I told you guys to watch them!" Sam berated us suddenly, making me look up.

"What did you expect us to do, Sam? They're three times our size! We couldn't exactly stand in front of them and tell them to sit. And I don't think I could have held on to them and dragged them back to the road," I snapped.

Sam lifted his hands and sighed in exasperation. "Yeah—okay—sure, that's true I guess. Whatever, I just—"

Optimus stomped up to Sam and leaned down to his level. "We must find the glasses, Sam! We are running out of time," he reminded him, indicating with his hand. Everyone was loitering in the very large yard, examining and scouting.

Idiots. They were all idiots.

It looked like it was a pretty nice yard before it had been crushed beneath the pedes of impatient robots. Pity, really. It had a fountain and well-manicured grass and a path—well, it used to. Plants were everywhere, and the fountain was in several pieces. It must have been the crash that I'd heard earlier.

"Shh! Shh! Shut up and hide!" Sam demanded.

"Just hurry!" Optimus snapped as Sam ran into this house and dropped the wounded dog on the floor. He disappeared into the interior and Mikaela and I were left with the robots.

"Autobots, recon!" Optimus ordered in a hushed voice, walking around to the side of the house. Bumblebee ducked down under some sort of porch awning, knocking around the lit lanterns hanging decoratively, and peeked in a window. Ironhide and Ratchet were already off somewhere.

"Jazz, oh my god are you serious? You all are going to be _seen_! You guys are the dumbest smart robots I have ever met!" I whined as quietly as possible, throwing my hands up. I didn't care if it was the middle of a quiet evening, neighborhoods like this always had that one nosy neighbor who saw everything.

He turned to me and crouched to my eye level. "Why don'tchu an' her go help 'im search? Might get done faster," Jazz suggested.

"That's a great idea," Optimus agreed, walking back around to Mikaela and I. He lowered his hand so we could climb on. I stared at it uneasily and backed up a pace. "Nah, I'll stay down here and keep an eye on you bozos."

Mikaela shrugged and climbed up without hesitation. "Alright, I'll try to move this along. I guess just. . .keep them quiet?" She shrugged, sitting down on Optimus' open palm. The noise he made lifting her to the window brought Sam over to investigate. Even two stories down I could hear them argue about something, but I could only make out parts of it. Sam was on the verge of hysteria.

"Please, hurry," Optimus urged before pulling away from the window.

I stepped out of the way so he didn't crush me when he made his way around the house. I spun in a circle and put a hand on top of my head. "You guys are being ridiculous."

"It is very important that we get that Cube before the Decepticons," Ratchet pointed out, turning from the street he had been scanning. Ironhide was posted up at the edge of the property, watching our six or whatever they called it.

"Well this isn't going to help! You're just stressing _everyone_ out and teenagers usually don't work so well under pressure. Hell, _I_ don't work well under pressure," I admitted.

Jazz kneeled with one arm resting on his knee and gestured with his hand. "Wha' would ya have us do, little miss?" he asked in sincerity. I appreciated him at least taking me seriously, I just wished everyone else did, too.

At first I wasn't sure what I wanted. I looked around as if the answer was going to be somewhere nearby, then sighed. "I don't know. Go back to your vehicle modes, or something. You obviously can't help them search for the glasses from out here and you're only proving to be a distraction—and a liability. Someone's going to see if they haven't already."

The Autobots turned to me and I felt my chest swell with pride a little bit. Were they going to listen to me for once?

"So just—go back and wait. Sam will find the glasses and then it'll all be okay," I promised.

Optimus nodded his head and signaled with a flick of his wrist. "As you wish. Autobots, transform," he commanded.

_Finally_! I sighed with relief and my shoulders relaxed by a margin. This was going to be so much quicker with them being quiet, with them out of sight. . . . And hopefully if no one had seen them yet, they wouldn't know.

The relief quickly faded first to confusion, then to horror, then to unadulterated rage when they transformed _right there in the yard_. All of them sat askew, idling on the grass.

"I swear to god I'm going to find a wrench and dismantle every one of you," I hissed through clenched teeth, running my fingers through my hair and pulling. It ruined my hair style, but something about the pain gave me an outlet for the stress.

The noises from their transformation brought both Sam and Mikaela to the window and Sam made a distressed sound, making me look up at him.

"No no no! This isn't hiding! This _isn't_ hiding! This is my backyard, not a truck stop!" Sam whisper-yelled to the cars sitting on his grass, his hand on his head. "Kat what did you do? This isn't what I wanted—"

Pointed a finger at him, I glared and said, "Shut up Sam! It's not my fault they weren't programmed with some common sense!"

He groaned loudly and they both disappeared back into Sam's room to continue looking.

For a moment I glowered at the open window, then I rounded on the cars and kicked the tire nearest to me—Ironhide's. He shook and grunted in surprise, but I cut off whatever he was going to say. "Go to the _road_! Do not _drive through the grass_! Stay _quiet_ and pretend to be cars!" I demanded.

Optimus transformed and looked at me with his head turned slightly. "We cannot properly protect the area from our vehicle modes."

" _Ugh whatever_! _I'll_ go get the stupid glasses!"

As I stormed toward the front of the house, I could hear them all changing back to their natural forms and I had to resist the urge to throw something heavy in their general direction. Of course I lacked anything heavy to do such a thing, anyway.

"How you gon' do that?" Jazz called softly.

I turned long enough to look at him. "You said you heard about the glasses from eBay? Well I'm going to start there! Give me my purse."


	10. Better Ways

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With these next three chapters, I'm particularly interested to see what you guys think of the dialogue. I tried to make it seem natural and make it flow, but let me know how I did and if there's any particular scenes that seem off. Thanks!

The time spent walking to the front door was spent fixing my hair, straightening my clothes, hoping my face didn't have any dirt on it, and thinking of something to say.

Hugging the fence, I maneuvered to the sidewalk and walked back toward the house and up the front path proper—in case I was spotted through a window, it would look like I was a normal visitor. Instead of one coming from the back yard.

Like a freak.

When I reached the door, I hesitated. It was getting late and I wasn't sure if they would even answer, but I had to try. I wavered a moment longer, then rang the doorbell. The chime echoed throughout the house and I thought I heard someone swearing inside.

I couldn't hear the Autobots from the front of the house, and I just hoped whatever they were doing on the inside was loud enough that they couldn't hear anything, either.

The fact that they hadn't come out to investigate yet was a good sign.

Finally, just when I was about to ring the doorbell again, a slightly chubby, short man with a receding hairline answered. He had a glass of what I assumed was wine, or maybe champagne, in one hand and at first he didn't seem too happy to be answering the door.

"—any idea what time. . . . Who're you?" he demanded with a flick of his head.

Nervously, I patted my recently-fixed topknot and summoned up the best smile I could muster. "Hello, my name's Kathryn Walker. Um. . .are you Mr. Sam Witwicky?" I asked sweetly.

"It's Wit—oh," the man grunted, as if used to correcting pronunciation. I'd already heard it spoken so many times, though. He recovered quickly enough and leaned against the door, eyes narrowed to beady slits. "No, I'm Ron. Sam's my son."

"Oh." As if I didn't already know. "Well, may I speak with him?"

"Why? What did my son do this time?"

Though I'd rehearsed most of what I was going to say, I wasn't prepared for everything. I was relying mostly on my adlib skills—of which I didn't think I had any.

_Well, here's to hoping._

"Oh, nothing, sir! He just advertised a few things on eBay that I was interested in buying, but when I learned how close we were, I insisted that I be able to see them first," I recited, pulling out my phone and showing him the exact page where the glasses showed up for sale.

As I said it, I realized just how many holes there were in the story, and just hoped he didn't poke at any of them.

Maybe the wine or champagne he was holding would help that.

Sam's dad reached out and took the phone from my hand, peering at the screen. It seemed he wasn't going to pull apart the holes in my story, at least for the time being. "That little—Never mind. Why are you here so late?"

"I know, I'm sorry, I just can't make it any earlier most days because of work. He told me it would be fine, I'm really sorry if it's not, I didn't know—"

He waved his hand with a dismissive flare and shook his head. "It's too late for that now. I can't believe he put this stuff up online to sell! You know these are family heirlooms? Dating back to my great grandfather?" he demanded, face contorted.

I hadn't expected him to be angry about it. I recoiled away from him, feeling my face redden. "I—I didn't know that."

"Ron? Ron who's at the door!" a female voice called.

A red-headed lady popped up behind Ron's shoulder and we made brief eye contact. "Oh! Hello! Are you one of Sam's lady friends?" she asked, voice coy and tinted with a minor accent I couldn't place.

"No, I just wanted to buy—"

"Damn," she sighed.

Though I wanted to know what she meant by that, her husband turned to her and waved my phone in front of her face. "Sam's selling those artifacts that belonged to my great grandfather! The ones that I gave him!"

Sam's mom swayed a little bit—she, too, was holding a glass of wine—and grabbed my phone to look at it a little better.

Meanwhile, I was left to shift from foot to foot, afraid they'd be angry with _me_.

"Oh Jesus. Why don't you come in, miss. . . ?"

"Kathryn."

"Kathryn, why don't you come in? We can go get Sam and make _him_ disappoint you." She handed my phone back and I stowed it in my pocket. "My name's Judy, by the way."

My heart had dropped and now all I wanted to do was run and hide. The whole plan had gone awry. I don't know why I imagined that I would just walk up to their house, ask to buy all the stupid stuff Sam was selling, and have them bring it out to me on a tray. Why would anything be _that_ easy?

And how was I going to buy it, anyway? I didn't have any cash! I guess I'd been hoping if I found it, Sam could help finish off the tangled web of lies I'd started.

"Oh—no I mean, if they're not for sale, I understand. I had no idea they were—"

"Nonsense! Get in here! You came all the way and I'm gonna make Sam fix this," she insisted, pulling the door from her husband's grip and swinging it wide open.

I glanced between the two, looked around for the Autobots—nowhere to be seen—then sighed in defeat and nodded. Ron moved out of the way and I followed his wife into the house proper. "Alright, I guess I could come in for a little bit."

Sam's house looked like it was straight out of a magazine. I wondered what his parents did that made them capable of affording all the knickknacks and art serving as center pieces, but I wasn't about to ask something so personal. Everything was very modern; crowded but not too crowded. Red accent curtains broke the beige monotony of the walls and furniture.

"You have a very lovely home," I murmured more to myself than to anyone.

Judy still heard me. "Why thank you! Go ahead and have a seat, I'll get Sam."

I did as I was told and sat down in a cushy taupe chair, hands folded in my lap. Ron sat on the couch and leaned way back, sipping at his glass of wine, while his wife moved to the stairs by the kitchen. The TV was playing the news, and was half-way through footage taken by a teenager with a phone—about the "meteor" that crashed.

Meteor, indeed.

By the look of all the ambulances around, it might have been Ratchet that fell from the sky over in that part of the city.

"Sam! Sam get your ass down here!"

Her tone and language took me by surprise, mostly because my parents were against swearing. Every now and again they would drop a few—as would I—but they never would have cursed _at_ me.

Then again, the Witwickys _were_ drinking, and not everyone could be like my parents.

"So—um, what kind of name is Witwicky?" I asked, picking at a loose thread in my pants' seam.

Ron shrugged. "Polish, I think."

"Ah. It's very unique. I bet there's a lot of family history there."

He smirked and raised his wine. "We have a family motto, among other things."

"Really?" I offered mechanically. Working with so many different people made me good at making small talk over nothing.

Nodding he recited, "'No sacrifice, no victory.'"

"That's a good motto to have."

"I like to think so."

His wife shouted up to Sam one more time, then shook her head and walked back to sit on the couch. "Honestly! I dunno about that kid sometimes," she sighed, taking a sip of her drink. "I'm sure he'll be just a moment. I'm sorry you had to come all the way out here for nothing, dear!"

I shook my head and smiled. "Oh, it's no trouble, really."

She set her drink down and brushed hair from her face. "He must have been selling them to raise enough money for his car."

"Oh. His first car?"

"Yes. Ron matched what he raised and bought him a crappy Camaro."

"It's his first car, it's supposed to be crappy! What did you want that old stuff for, anyway?" Ron deflected, grumbling to himself afterwards.

If only they knew how less of a piece of scrap Bumblebee was now.

"Uh—my, father, is really into sailing and stuff, y'know? I thought authentic old sailing gear would really. . .be a good gift for his birthday." I tried to maintain eye contact through the half-baked lie but found it difficult.

He nodded. "What would he do with that stuff?"

I just shrugged and looked down at my hands. "Um, I don't know, really. I'm just out of ideas. You can only buy your dad so many ties, you know?" How easily lies flew from my mouth now.

Ron chuckled and opened his mouth to reply, but the house shook suddenly, and the lights flickered. Ron's wife held her arms out to steady herself and I pushed myself farther into my chair, looking around wildly.

_The Autobots!_ I thought with a scowl.

"Get down! Earthquake!" Ron yelled, jumping up out of his spot on the couch and hobbling around to the kitchen table. His wife made no move to do any of that, though. Neither did I. "Get under the table! Judy get under the table, hurry!"

Judy leaned to look around the wall, her brow furrowed. "How did you get down there so fast?"

"Was that even a real Earthquake?" I asked, looking around. I was just glad that nothing had been knocked off a shelf and broken. Wait—did Nevada get Earthquakes? I didn't think so, and Judy didn't look at me weird, so maybe not. . . ?

"Not one that's anything to worry about," she replied, adjusting a sculpture of an eagle that had been knocked askew.

_Well, shit_. She didn't seem to connect the dots—that I wasn't from Nevada.

_Saved by the wine._

The lights flickered again, but this time when they turned off they stayed off. Ron crawled out from under the table, swearing quietly, and then fished around in one of the kitchen drawers. "Where's that flashlight, Judy?"

"It's out here!" she called back, gliding around the furniture to a cabinet behind the TV. In her tipsy state she ran into something and swore. Ron joined her shortly after and bathed the room in light. I turned around in my chair to find him with a giant flashlight and Judy holding up a wooden baseball bat. I found that cause for alarm.

Did she think we were under attack? If we were, what did she think she was going to do with a _bat_ when the entire house had shaken?

"Stay here, uh—what was your name again?" he asked.

"Kathryn," I sighed.

"Yeah—stay here, Kathryn. We're gonna go make sure Sam is okay and drag him down here to talk to you." It sounded like a suggestion more than a demand, but I nodded all the same and made myself comfortable in that plush chair.

Their steps receded up the stairs and I looked around the empty—and dark—room. Without the light from the flashlight, I could only make out vague shapes and shadows. Without the television running, the silence pressed in on me and I shifted uncomfortably in my chair, suddenly feeling cold. Static buzzed in my ears and I took a breath.

The darkness never usually bothered me. Like any small child I'd been afraid of it at first, but eventually I'd grown out of it.

Something about the darkness of a house I'd never been in, in a state I'd never visited, felt different. More sinister. I didn't know where any furniture was, I didn't recognize any of the silhouettes of their living room.

My heart started to flutter and my insides twist, so I tried to distract myself.

I couldn't hear the Autobots outside, so I began there. I moved from my seat to the windows, jumping when a half-asleep Mojo growled at me; irritated by my disturbance of his sleep. I rolled my eyes and peered outside into the night, but could only pick out the occasional movement.

There was a commotion upstairs and I was glad for another interruption from foreign darkness. I scurried upstairs, following a bright blue light.

"Sam are you in here?" Ron was demanding as he tried to open the door to what I assumed was Sam's room, but it only jiggled with no response. Ron puffed up and shouted through the barrier. "Sam? Sam, why is this door locked? You know the rule! No doors locked in _my_ house!"

Judy stepped up, holding the bat against her chest. "You _know_ he'll start counting if you don't open th—"

"Five!"

"Oh dear!" Judy groaned, rolling her eyes. "Here we go!"

"Time's running out pal! Four!"

"He's counting!"

"Better hurry!"

Hearing the family interact with each other filled me with nostalgia. My parents usually didn't have to even start counting—just threaten to _begin_ was enough for me to jump when told to. I never learned what exactly the consequences were, but I'd never wanted to find out, either.

"Just unlock the door!" Judy pleaded again.

"Two! It's coming off the hinges!" Ron threatened.

"He's counting, Sam!"

Ron took a small step back and his muscles tensed. "Better stand back!"

I actually backed away from them, eyes widening. For a moment I thought about intervening because I wasn't sure this man wouldn't hurt himself if he tried to kick down the door, but before he could even finish the word "one", the door swung open and Sam stared out at us, breathless and panting and flushed.

"Sup?" he huffed, eyeing his mom. "What's with the bat?"

"Who were you talking to?" his dad demanded.

Crap, he must have heard them arguing with the Autobots or something. I tried my best to hide behind his parents, not trusting Sam to keep his mouth shut about knowing me.

It didn't work.

His eyes fell on me for a brief moment. His face contorted into surprise, but I shook my head and hoped he wouldn't say anything. He caught on and motioned toward me. "Who's this?"

They glanced at me and I grimaced. "I didn't want to be down there by myself."

"Fair enough," Ron muttered.

"Sam why are you all sweaty and filthy?" Judy asked, reaching out to smear some dirt away from his cheek with her thumb. She'd licked the pad first and I felt a pang of sympathy for him; my mom had still liked to give me spit baths, too.

Sam frowned and dodged his mom's attempt. "I'm a child, Mom. You know, a teenager." He didn't miss a beat on his retort.

"We heard voices and noises, and we thought maybe you—," his mom began.

"Doesn't matter what we thought. What was that light?" his dad interrupted, shoving past Sam and into his room. Sam attempted to stop him, but there was no stopping this man it seemed, and if they were like my parents you didn't tell them "no" without raising suspicion.

My parents usually trusted me well enough to keep things like this from happening in the first place. I couldn't help but think about how differently this would have gone if Dad had been. . . .

The Autobots wouldn't have traipsed around the Witwicky's yard, for starters. He would have taken the direct approach, and he would have been able to command them with more authority and confidence.

He would have known what to do. Dad always knew what to do. Unlike me, who was yelling at alien robots and pulling out my hair.

"What light, Dad? There was no—You got a flashlight in your hands! It must have bounced—" Sam tried to maneuver around his dad, and I leaned against the doorframe, my face in my hands as I thought about how much I missed my dad.

It should have been him there, not me. I could have been home, sitting with Mom and talking about NCIS, not having stress-induced palpitations over _aliens_.

"There was a light!"

"Look, you guys cannot just bounce in here whenever you want to! You have to knock, you have to communicate!" Sam argued angrily.

"We did! We knocked for five minutes! The door was locked!" came Ron's rebuttal.

"No, you didn't knock, you were screaming at me, ok?"

"No," his mom cooed. "We knocked."

"This is my place, and this is oppression that you're doing here." Sam flailed his arms wildly for emphasis, and I sighed quietly to myself. What was the point of fighting tooth and nail? "You're ruining my youth!"

"Oh for Pete's sake! God, why are you so defensive, tonight? Were you. . . ," Sam's mom hesitated for a second. "Masturbating?"

Silence.

"Judy. . . ," Sam's dad warned. Both he and Sam had turned to stare at poor Judy.

I coughed—or more like choked on air—and bit down on my knuckles. That conjured up a whole slew of mental images I needed about as much as an extra hole in my head and I wanted to find a way to excuse myself. However, much like a train wreck, I couldn't look away.

To Sam's credit, though, his face didn't even redden a little bit. It was already flushed from all of the anxiety, though, so maybe I couldn't tell that he was blushing.

"Was I master— _no_ , Mom!"

"That's private, Judy."

Sam's mom rolled her eyes and pushed a strand of hair from her face. "It's okay!"

"I don't masterba—"

"It's not something for you to bring up. That's father-son talk."

Sam pointed at his dad and nodded. "Father and son!"

"We don't have to call it that word if that's what makes you uncomfortable!" Judy offered.

At least his parents were cool about it, I couldn't even imagine what _my_ parents would have done. . .we didn't pry into sensitive topics like that.

They just kind of—trusted me, I guess. They probably shouldn't have, as I was no stranger to sneaking boys into the house late at night. Or sneaking out. My mom had tried to talk to me about the birds and the bees before, but I'd just brushed her off and told her I'd learned it all from school already. I assumed it was uncomfortable for everyone.

In the end they just wanted me to be safe, which I was.

"You could call it. . . Sam's. . . Happy Time, or—"

Ron sounded flabbergasted. "Happy Time? Judy, stop!"

"—my Special, Alone Time. . . ."

"Judy!"

". . . with myself."

"Mom you can't—! We have a guest over!"

Despite the uncomfortable topic, I found myself with a grim smile on my face. They were so comfortable with each other, and happy. It warmed my heart but saddened my soul, knowing that I'd never have anything like that again with my parents.

"I'm sorry! It's been a weird night, I've had a little bit to drink. . . ." Shaking her head she turned to look at me and lifted her hand. "Sorry, dear. You shouldn't have had to hear that."

The moment was ruined when another tremor racked the house and I gasped, pressing myself firmly into a corner. I wasn't sure what this one was about, or what the Autobots could possibly be doing to make the whole house shake—were they slamming into it? Trying to find the glasses by picking up the entire house? Honestly.

"Earthquake! Get in the doorway! Aftershock!" Ron shouted. His voice faded as he scurried like a rat deeper into Sam's room.

The lights flickered back on and I stumbled into the room proper, looking around. An orgy of evidence that this was a boy's room hit me. I couldn't see the whole thing, but from the doorway I could pick out a plastic basketball hoop, a giant foam globe, some posters, and clothes everywhere. My eye caught a nifty, round tank with goldfish in it, but the cloudy water was in desperate need of changing. Poor fish.

"Oh the lights are back on!" Judy gasped. She glanced around and shook her head. "Your floor is filthy, Sam!"

Ron hurried over to the window to assess the damage of the yard and I prayed that the Autobots were out of sight. I jumped when Sam grabbed my arm and pulled me in close by my shirt. "What are you doing hanging out with my parents?" he demanded through clenched teeth, glancing at the two in question.

I shrugged out of his grasp and straightened my shirt, glaring at him. "I was posing as a potential buyer, but your parents are very upset with you for trying to sell your great-great-grandpa's effects," I replied indignantly.

"Sam!" Ron growled as if on cue. He pointed an accusing finger at him and declared, "You have a lot of explaining to do, young man. This lady is here to buy family heirlooms!"

"What?" Sam stammered. "The—the glasses and stuff?"

"And who were you up here talking to? Yourself?" Sam's mom demanded, marching up to stand next to her husband. She was still holding onto that bat like it was going to save her life against the "earthquakes" that plagued her home.

Mikaela stood up then, catching everyone's attention. Judy let the bat fall from her ready-to-swing pose and put a hand on her son's shoulder, as if she needed to keep herself steady. She really should have had her wine taken earlier. Sam looked like he was about to curl into a ball and die, but I was just surprised she had hid so well.

"Hey. I'm Mikaela. I'm. . .I'm a friend of Sam's," she introduced herself.

To my surprise, they weren't at all upset about it. In fact, Judy actually giggled and shook Sam's shoulder vigorously. Like they were proud. When I'd been caught with a strange boy in _my_ room, I'd been grounded for ten years and lectured like I'd murdered someone.

Which is why I became so good at sneaking in and out of the house _._ Probably because I was a girl. Double standards.

"Gosh, she is gorgeous!" Judy complimented.

"She can hear you talking, Mom," Sam sighed. He mechanically tapped knuckles with his dad to appease him, and Mikaela muttered a quiet "thank you", smiling awkwardly.

Suddenly, Judy gasped and looked around in horror. "Oh my god! I'm sorry you had to hear our family discussion! It was bad enough that poor Kathryn had to hear it all. . . . Oh lord I'm so, so sorry," she apologized.

All I could do was shrug. Mikaela also dismissed her worries with a similar gesture.

When they looked away from me, I raised my eyebrows at Sam coyly. He was mortified and I was briefly concerned he would leap out of the window to make his escape.

"Sam!" Judy declared, startling me and her son. "You tell this nice lady here that she can't buy your trinkets!"

"Yes, what were you thinking, putting those up on eBay? That's your heritage right there!" Ron chimed in, turning toward his son. I quietly edged around them and stood next to Mikaela, who looked at me questioningly.

I just shook my head.

"Yeah, okay! I'll tell her! But where's my backpack? Have you seen it?" he demanded, turning Judy by her shoulder and ushering both of his parents out of his room.

His mom answered, "You left it in the kitchen."

My eyes narrowed and I glanced over at Mikaela. "Did he ever think to look _outside_ of his room?" I whispered.

She rolled her eyes. "No, apparently not."

"At least it's over now," I groaned. I glanced over my shoulder one more time before we left the room, hoping that the Autobots would make themselves scarce long enough for us to get the glasses and leave.


	11. Never Ending Calamity

"Excuse me, where's the bathroom?" I asked halfway down the stairs. Sam made a bee-line for the kitchen and Mikaela followed after him. I stopped at the bottom of the stairs and waited.

Judy was the one who turned and pointed. "Right down there, dear!"

I smiled and nodded. "Thank you."

It wasn't a total lie. Judy commenting on Sam being "filthy" had me feeling self-conscious so I scurried into the guest bathroom and tried to clear away some of the smudges from the fight with Barricade. Mikaela looked pristine as ever, but she hadn't been tackled by a human-sized lawnmower.

Luckily there wasn't much to clean. I finished with the facilities and poked my head out to see where everyone was, but they were busy doing their own thing.

After I was certain no one was looking, I dipped into the hallway and slipped silently through the back door into the destroyed yard. I glanced and turned around where I stood, looking for the Autobots, but none of them were in sight.

_Where the hell did they go?_

Rolling my eyes, I snuck around to the front to check the street. I thought I spotted Jazz' alt form at the end of the block, but not any of the larger bots or Bumblebee. Which was weird, since it was technically his house.

But he wasn't exactly the same "crappy Camaro" Ron had bought, so he would have been out of place anyway.

Shaking my head, I sighed. " _Now_ you learned the meaning of stealth," I muttered.

Better late than never, I decided. I tiptoed around the corner and quickly jogged back across the yard toward the backdoor. I'd wanted to tell them we were almost done. I'd wanted to maybe disappear so I didn't have to worry about Sam's parents lecturing him about the items I didn't actually want to buy.

With my plans of absconding thwarted, I snuck back inside the house and hoped Jazz still had all my shit in his pocket dimension. Whatever he'd called it.

The stupid Chihuahua started yapping when I walked inside this time and I quickly shushed him while moving about, hoping no one came to investigate. Even with the cast on his leg he was still able to almost trip me three times.

"Mojo! Don't bark at our guest!" Judy reprimanded the dog, scooping him up off the floor before putting him up on some sort of bed they had for him by a window.

It looked like a cat tree.

Sam popped out from in the kitchen and pointed a finger at me. "Mom, don't let her near him she hates Chihuahuas!"

She gasped and put a hand to her chest. "What?"

Sighing, I shot Sam a sour look and shook my head. "I don't _hate_ Chihuahuas."

"You said they suck!"

"I just prefer big dogs! You can't hug a Chihuahua without crushing it!" I shot back, storming after him into the kitchen. "And a Chihuahua isn't going to protect you from a big scary home invader!"

Case in point, his broken leg.

Judy remained in the living room, cooing to the dog and scratching his ears. "Don't listen to her! You're an adorable little doggy!"

"Didn't you guys just meet?" Ron intoned, his eyes narrowed.

_Oh_ shit.

To Sam's credit, he hopped on it immediately. "Well technically in _person_ maybe, but like, we spoke in eBay. . .messages? For like, a while y'know?"

I nodded and added, "Yeah, and he. . .asked if it was okay he had a dog, since I wanted to come and see the glasses. I said sure, and just. . .asked what kind of dog it was. I had a shepherd mix when I was little, so I was curious."

"Yeah, then she said Chihuahuas suck. She's dog racist."

"That's not a thing!"

"Whatever, I want those things off of the internet tonight!" Ron chided, standing in the doorway to the living room. As he left, he sent another command to his son. "Apologize to the nice lady for wasting her time!"

He groaned, but turned to shout back. "Whatever you say Dad!"

We stood in the kitchen for a moment and Sam glared at me. "Why did you tell my Dad about this stuff?" he demanded.

" _You_ weren't getting any result so I thought I'd pretend to be interested in buying them! I thought maybe there'd be a better chance of finding them. How was I supposed to know you were selling that junk behind your parents' backs?" I hissed through clenched teeth.

"Whatever, it doesn't matter, I got them!" Sam exclaimed. He had finished digging through his bags and was holding up an old pair of spectacles. They looked very unassuming, but the Autobots seemed to think that there was something to them. "Okay you guys wanna go distract my parents while I sneak out and give them the glasses?"

"Sure," Mikaela agreed.

Shrugging, I motioned outside. "You might need to look for them, I couldn't find them when I was in the back yard."

"Yeah?"

I nodded.

"Well I'm sure they're nearby," Mikaela pointed out. "Why would they go far without their glasses? Maybe Jazz talked them into hiding."

"One can only hope."

Someone suddenly started ringing the doorbell in rapid succession, trying hard to get our attention. The sound startled me and Sam. None of us moved to see what was going on and instead shared nervous glances.

"Who could be here this late?" Sam whispered.

"Probably no one we want to see," I muttered. "Just go around the back?"

When no one immediately answered the door, the doorbell rang several times in a row once more, incessantly. Whoever was on the other side didn't have much patience. Sam, Mikaela, and I peeked around the corner to see what was going on.

Ron opened the door, and faced the skinny, gangly man in the doorway. "Ron Wikicky?" the man asked, smiling a big, fake smile.

"It's Witwicky. Who're you?" Ron demanded.

"Agent Simmons of the government, Sector Seven," the man said, showing off a shiny silver badge he'd pulled from his inside pocket.

"Never heard of it," Sam's father replied skeptically.

"Never will."

The three of us withdrew back into the kitchen and panic rose like bile in my throat—all of my worst fears. The government had finally come knocking. I _knew_ the Autobots wouldn't have gone unnoticed. Those meteors crashing to Earth were all over the news, and their shenanigans at this house were downright embarrassing.

"Is your family related to one Captain Archibald Wilkicky?" the man, Simmons, continued as he leaned forward to look in the house.

"It's _Witwicky_!"

"May I enter the premises, sir?"

Though we were already hidden from I sight, I ushered the two teens further into the kitchen. The two teens stared at me, bewildered.

"What's going on?" Same whispered.

"What's Sector Seven?"

I glanced over my shoulder and swore quietly. "The government is here, they _know_. We have to sneak out of here somehow and get to the Autobots," I explained in undertone, glancing out the windows into the yard.

Dark shapes moved about.

"Ronald! Ronald there are men in suits _everywhere_!" Judy complained, passing by the kitchen entrance. Once again she had that wooden bat in her grasp and she definitely looked ready to bash someone's skull in.

Men in suits everywhere, she said. We were trapped.

"Can you stay off the grass?" Ron demanded angrily after following his wife toward the backdoor. Mojo was yapping away. They probably would have thought twice if it was a large Rottweiler snarling at them.

I turned to Sam and Mikaela. "Is there any other way to leave the house?" I asked.

Sam shook his head. "We have to go through there, they'll see us. And there are government agents all over the place. We're not getting out of here," he said quietly. I didn't think his face could be any more pale.

"Make sure you get samples!" Simmons commanded in the living room, pointing around.

"Oh, Ron! They're pulling the bushes out of the ground! The bushes! Oh _hell_!" Just shouted, stomping around the house. Outside a pot shattered.

"Ma'am, I need you to drop the bat. I am carrying a _loaded_ weapon."

"You better get those men out of my garden or I will kick the _crap_ outta them!" she spat. Part of me hoped she would smack him with the bat. It would probably provide a proficient distraction so we could all sneak out, but then again she'd probably be arrested for assaulting a federal officer. If this branch was even real.

Once more my mind tried to figure out how my dad would have handled the situation. But oh wait, he _worked_ for the government. He would have just sent them away! I couldn't pull anything close to that and get away with it.

Judy was making a horrible fuss and Sam surged forward to come to her aid. Mikaela and I had no choice but to follow.

We made it out and stood between the kitchen and the living room. The Simmons guy and one other agent were in the house, and they looked at us when we stepped down the small landing into the living room.

"Mom, Dad, what's going on?" Sam asked.

"Hi! How ya doing, son?" Simmons greeted him cheerily, throwing the wooden bat to a suited man next to him. Maybe Judy had tried to hit him. Pity it hadn't worked. "Are you Samuel?"

Sam hesitated. I shook my head, hoping he wouldn't answer, but he did. "Yeah."

"I'm going to need you to come with me," Simmons informed him, motioning with a hand and taking a step toward him.

Ron and Judy took up defensive positions in front of Sam.

"Woah, woah! That is way outta line," Ron warned him. Mojo waddled up in front of Ron and continued his yapping.

"Sir, I am asking politely. Back off."

"Why do you need to take Sam? Under what charges?" Judy demanded angrily.

"You aren't going to take our son," Ron insured the government man, holding his hand up as if to keep Simmons back.

"Oh really? Are you going to get rough with us?" Simmons bated, squaring up.

"No, but I _am_ going to call the cops, because there is something fishy about this whole operation you've got going here!" Ron threatened him, standing up straighter to look more intimidating.

"Good idea, Ron. Go and call the cops and have them come out here," I demanded.

The agent's attentions fell to me, but I didn't falter and continued my rant.

"Technically, you can't do anything to us without a warrant, and if you can't show us a judge-issued warrant for arrest or search, you should just leave this man's private property right now and come back when you do!" I continued. My face heated under the scrutiny.

Now everyone was looking at me, a mixture of surprise and awe.

"What? I watch a lot of Law and Order," I whispered, turning my head to hide the blush.

"We are above the law! This badge here says so," Simmons countered with wild eyes, showing us all his shiny little badge. "I think there's something fishy about you, your son, your little Taco Bell dog, and the operation _you_ have going here."

"What operation?" Ron demanded, looking confused and angry. Judy picked up Mojo and cradled him to her chest.

"That, sir, is what we are trying to find out."

"You still can't just bust into the neighborhood and start ripping up bushes and flowers and stealing them! You need a _warrant_ signed by a _judge_ , or your search here is in violation of our Sixth Amendment rights! You could be sent to jail! I don't care what branch of the government you are, you have no right to disrupt their family living without good reason!" I shouted angrily.

I really had no clue what the Sixth Amendment was, but I thought I sounded pretty smart using it right then. I knew the Fifth Amendment was the rights accused get, so the sixth had to do with something about the law, too. Whatever, I was on a roll.

Simmons trained his gaze on me and furrowed his brow in thought. "And who are you, Ms. Criminal Intent?"

"That doesn't matter! Any Joe Blow off the street can get a badge off of the internet and claim to be with the government. If we haven't heard of you, then we don't need to listen to you!" I was yelling now. My heart was beating a mile a minute and my face was flushed. I wasn't used to this kind of conflict outside of irate customers at work.

Though, I never would have taken the tone I was with a customer. The stress and frustration was starting to wear me down.

The "government" guy narrowed his eyes. "Name. Now."

I hesitated, squared my shoulders, and huffed. Try as I might, false bravado was all I could muster. "Kathryn Walker."

Simmons' eyes widened. "As in the daughter of Kyle Walker?"

Instead of losing my momentum, the mention of my father only made me angrier.

"How the hell do you know my dad?" I demanded, pointing an accusing finger at him. Dad had never mentioned anything about something named "Sector Seven" or any government agency like it. One we hadn't heard of and "never would". He'd always just told me that he did background checks for the government, not that he was some sort of _agent_.

"Walkers have worked for us since we were established. Sector Seven often hires within a bloodline. How old are you? Sixteen? Seventeen?" he asked.

"Twenty-two," I snorted indignantly. No way I looked _that_ young.

"Kat you _know_ these people?" Sam demanded.

I turned and shook my head. "I've never heard of them! I don't know what he's talking about! My dad said he did _background checks_!"

Simmons shifted uneasily, as if he hadn't been expecting that. "Must have asked the higher-ups not to recruit you." Though I heard him, it seemed like he was talking to himself.

He paused, then gave me a grave look. "We were all upset when we heard about his death."

"I don't need your sympathy," I spat, looking down and away from him. Some strange people had come to the funeral saying they were work friends, but I didn't recognize Simmons or the goon standing next to him.

Somehow I had to put the pieces together. Sometimes he'd be gone for a couple days on business meetings, but he never had long nights, his relationship with Mom was steady. . .had he been telling the truth? Maybe he did do background checks for this Sector Seven. And my great-grandfather, this Sam Walker, had worked for them, so if they hired family it made sense.

So then, why hadn't _I_ ever heard of them, if they "hired within a bloodline"?

"Did he ever even mention working with him at all?" Simmons asked, pulling me from my own little world.

A rebellious part of me wanted to ignore him and not answer, but I found myself responding anyway, as if hoping he could answer all the questions burning in me. "We spoke about it in passing at dinner sometimes, but I wanted to be a banker like Mom. Dad travelled too much for my tastes."

"Banker?" Simmons repeated, face screwing.

My anger returned and I hunched my shoulders, arms crossed. "I _like_ doing my job!"

The balding man spoke with some of the goons from outside then caught Simmons' attention before he could form a rebuttal. Simmons took his gaze away from me and looked down at the shorter man. "I think _direct_ contact," the guy muttered to him. Simmons eyes widened and the man nodded his head once.

_Contact?_

Simmons walked forward, holding out small box and a sensor that was handed to him. "Sir, ladies, will you step forward, please?" he addressed the three of us, holding the sensor out towards us.

Sam stepped forward, pushing out from behind Ron, and I snapped out of my own thoughts. I reached for Sam's shirt, but he moved out of my range and I swore quietly. "Sam! _No_! Don't do _anything_ until they have a warrant!"

But it was too late for that. Simmons first held the sensor out to Sam and his parents, slowly moving it up and down the length of their bodies. The box clicked frantically as it passed over Sam and Simmons stared at it, irritated. He took a moment to hold it before Mikaela, earning the same result, but when he attempted to pull that shit on me I backed up and shook my head.

"No sir, you stay away from me. What is that thing, anyway?"

Whatever the thing was reading, it was more interesting than my questions. "Fourteen rads! Bingo! Tag 'em and bag 'em!" Simmons declared, walking away.

Men swarmed around us and grabbed everyone by the arms, pulling and manhandling. Someone took Mojo from Judy's arm and carried him off, too. I pulled my arm from the grip of some goon and stumbled backwards. "Under what charges!"

The man moved on me again. I struggled for a few seconds, but he detained and dragged me out of the house. "Let go of me right now! I demand it!"

However, he had no intention of doing so and slapped some icy-cold handcuffs on me, forcibly twisting my arms around my back. I hissed in pain through clenched teeth. "You are in violation of all my American rights!"

"If you hurt my dog, I'll kick your ass!" I heard Judy yell.

"Sam! Don't say anything!"

"Yeah!" Sam replied.

"Not a word until we get a lawyer!" Ron yelled before he was shoved into a car.

"They can't use anything we say here in court! We haven't been mirandized yet!" I yelled angrily. I was beginning to feel even more glad that I had decided to be like Mom. All of these people were assholes, every last one of them.

As I realized that I wasn't going to be able to talk my way out logically, panic rose in my chest.

We weren't being arrested. We were being kidnapped.

Furtively, I looked around for where I thought I'd seen Jazz sitting, hoping that they at least knew we were being taken. Between bodies and cars, I spotted the silver car I thought was him sitting at the end of the block and, without thinking, I called out to him. "Jazz! _Jazz_!"

The high beams on the car flashed then went dark. For a brief moment hope swelled inside me, but when the car did nothing further, it dove like a crashing plane.

He wasn't going to do anything.

There were no other Autobots around that I could see, and they were going to let us be taken.

Defeated, I let the goon holding me shove me into one of the black SUVs with Sam and Mikaela; Sam was sandwiched between the two of us. We were all in handcuffs, and it wasn't very comfortable sitting in a chair with my arms behind my back.

"You're all going to be in big trouble," I growled under my breath, leaning forward and glaring at Simmons with an intensity I hoped burned him. If he noticed, he didn't let it show.

But the Autobots knew we'd taken. I tried to find solace in that face, even if it stung that they weren't going to do anything about it. _Not yet, anyway,_ I reminded myself. Who knew what these Sector Seven jackasses would do. They couldn't have a fight in a neighborhood.

Jazz wasn't leaving me behind. He was just biding his time.

Simmons waited to address us while he gave the driver some directions. The car Sam's parents were in took off in one direction, and the rest of the group of cars headed in another. We passed by Jazz' spot on the street and I turned in my seat, but we turned a corner and he was gone. He'd come for me, though. I had to believe it.

Man I was tired of being fucking _kidnapped,_ though.

Once we were out of the neighborhood and on a stretch of open road, he turned and examined me for moment, then asked, "Who's Jazz?"

I refused to look at him and muttered under my breath, "My very large friend."

"And?"

"And he's gonna be mad you stole us."

Annoyed, Simmons said, "We _apprehended_ you. You're in handcuffs."

All I could do was scowl at him. "You can buy handcuffs at a sex store, idiot. I still don't buy you're a real government agency."

Mikaela joined in. "Yeah, for all we know you're just thugs with a big budget."

"I assure you," he hissed, "We are a legitimate branch of the government, if secret."

Sam scoffed. "Haven't done anything to prove that."

He raised his eyebrows and mocked us silently before turning back to the front and grabbing a bag in the glove compartment. "So, LadiesMan217. That _is_ your eBay username, isn't it?" he asked, dumping a cell phone into the palm of his hand.

"Yeah, but, like, it was a typo and I ran with it," Sam explained defensively, looking at us.

I shot him a disbelieving glance. "How the hell would you get that from a typo?" I asked, but the only answer I received was a dirty look shot in my direction. Somehow I managed to imagine him just pounding on his keyboard.

"Is this you?" Simmons asked, holding the phone up and ignoring our squabble. Sam's voice rang from the speakers. _"Hello, my name is Sam Witwicky and my car is_ alive _."_

"Yeah, that sounds like LadiesMan," Mikaela agreed reluctantly.

"Last night at the station you told the officer that your car 'transformed.' Enlighten me," Simmons prompted, eyes glued to Sam.

I'd forgotten that Sam had witnessed Bumblebee transform. That he'd been picked up by the police. That mixed with the falling Autobots and the fact that they'd already had a taste of the Decepticons and the Autobots led them to us. They'd come for Sam because of the statement he'd made to police.

Much as I liked to bitch and moan, this Sector Seven was the real thing.

_If Dad were here, I wouldn't have been arrested._

Wait. If my Dad was part of Sector Seven. . . . He would have turned Jazz in, wouldn't he? None of this would have happened because he would have reported back to Sector Seven and they would have captured or killed Jazz and known the Autobot's entire plan. . .they would have all been captured or killed and we'd be. . . .

But no, no Dad wouldn't have turned them in? He wouldn't have done such an underhanded thing, would he? He wasn't like that, he wasn't like these assholes!

There was no way he was like them.

Sam shook his head, mouth bobbing. "Here's what I said, okay. This is a total misunderstanding!" Sam argued. Mikaela nodded her agreement, her lips pursed into a thin line. "I said that my car was stolen. From me."

Simmons raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

"From my home. But it's ok, cause it's back. It came back."

Mikaela glanced at him warily and shook her head a tiny bit before looking back to Simmons. "Well, not on its own it didn't!"

"Well no," Sam agreed quickly, his eyes wide.

"'Cause cars can't do that. That would be crazy," Mikaela offered, laughing a forced, nervous laugh. Sam joined in with an equally strained guffaw. Even Simmons and the driver joined in, but I just kept glaring at the seat in front of me.

Hoping and waiting for Jazz to come fetch me.

"Oh, funny. That's real funny." Simmons said before he cut off the laughter and took up a serious face. "What do you kids know about aliens, huh?"

Sam and Mikaela stopped laughing and watched Simmons.

"What, you mean a Martian? Like ET? Ha. No," Sam replied.

"Yeah, it's an urban legend," Mikaela agreed, shaking her head.

Simmons looked at me expectantly and I tore my gaze away from the terribly interesting seat back in front of me to glare at him instead. Was I supposed to be pretending I knew nothing about aliens? What was the point? They already knew, that much was clear.

"Guess you'll find out when they come to get us," I intoned, gritting my teeth. Sam and Mikaela glared at me.

"She doesn't mean that," Sam said quickly.

"I don't know why you guys are bothering talking to him. Just keep quiet and they have nothing against us," I advised.

Simmons narrowed his eyes and fished his badge out of his pockets to wave it in front of my face. "You see this, Ms. Criminal Intent? It's a do-whatever-I-want-and-get-away-with-it badge. No matter what you think, I am going to lock you up _forever._ "

"Yeah?" Sam swallowed hard.

"Oh, god. You know what? Don't listen to him. He's just pissy 'cause he has to get back to guarding the mall," Mikaela hissed, glaring at Simmons. I sneered at Simmons, glad I wasn't the only one with a little bit of fight left in me.

Simmons snapped his head around to look at Mikaela. "You. In the training bra. Do not test me. Especially with your daddy's parole coming up."

"Parole? What?" Sam gasped.

"It's nothing, Sam," Mikaela insisted.

"Oh, grand theft auto, that's nothing?" Simmons countered.

Mikaela grimaced and turned to Sam. "You know those cars my dad taught me to fix? They weren't always his."

"You—you stole cars?" Sam affirmed, looking taken aback.

"We couldn't always afford a babysitter, so sometimes Dad had to bring me along," Mikaela explained, glaring at Simmons.

If my hands weren't behind my back, I would have pulled out my hair. "Guys, come on now. He's using this to try to put a rift between us. It's common interrogation practices. None of this is important to the task at hand," I pleaded, glaring at Simmons.

They looked at me, but Sam still seemed uneasy and Mikaela looked mortified that we knew her dirty little secret. "Don't give him the satisfaction of arguing with each other."

The two teens looked down and away from each other. Well, it was a start.

Simmons glared at me, part way impressed and part way irritated. However, he was still trying to rattle cages and make us talk. "Sure, don't talk to me like she says. But if you don't want your dad to spend the rest of his natural life in prison, then it is _time_ to _talk_!"

Halfway through his speech, the special box they had used earlier started to click rapidly, alerting us to something. Then, a large object—a foot?—swung into the front of the car and slammed into it with enough force to jerk the car around and break the windshield.

And no one had bothered to buckle any of us in.

Our car spun, rammed something again, and I was thrown into the seat in front of me before thumping into sam. There was a flash of red and blue as we came to a final stop. I groaned and readjusted my weight in the seat, hoping that I'd managed not to hurt myself too bad in the collision. Had it been another car? Or maybe was it—

A light beamed in through the windows and I heard heavy footsteps outside the car.

That would be our rescue party.


	12. Mindless Games

"What is _that_?" Simmons demanded, trying to look out the car windows but finding it difficult. The bright blue-white light was shining down on us, blinding everyone in the car.

"Big, it's big!" the driver shouted fearfully.

I couldn't help but feel a little smug. "Tried telling 'em. Should'a just let us go and come back with a warrant," I muttered more to myself than to anyone in particular.

Large fingers shattered the side windows as the Autobot outside picked the SUV up by its roof. Glass rained into the car and I turned my head away with a surprised gasp. I couldn't even put my hands up because of the _fucking handcuffs_.

A buzz of yelps and curses and demands filled the car. Most of it was the two goons shouting at each other or our collective cries of surprise.

The hands holding the car had red and blue pain up the arm—Optimus had us.

"Shift your weight toward the front!" came the only discernable command.

It wasn't long before the sound of metal ripping apart filled my ears. I ground my teeth together and tried to brace myself against something, then the roof was torn off like the lid to a can. The rest of the car fell back to the earth, landing with a loud sound of shattering glass and bending metal.

Once again I was thrown around like I was inside a pinball machine, but besides feeling a little dizzy there were only more bruises, and a soreness in my shoulder.

Always with the bruises.

Though I was annoyed they couldn't find a better way to free us, I couldn't argue with results.

"Woah!" Simmons cried, looking up. The light flicked off and towering above us was Optimus Prime, still hanging onto the roof of the car. He grunted in irritation and tossed the sheet of bent and battered metal to the ground.

"You yahoos are in trouble now," Sam said ominously, leaning toward Simmons and the driver. "Gentlemen, I'd like to introduce you all to our friend. Optimus Prime."

Simmons and the driver glanced back at the three us. I ignored the urge to stick my tongue out at them, and then they turned to look at Optimus. Simmons slowly stood and the driver pulled a small rifle from under the dashboard. Like that was going to help.

"Taking the children was a bad move," Optimus growled.

"Children?" I whispered dubiously. Whatever, I had to let it go. We were all probably children to these giant robots.

Men from the four cars had already taken up flanking positions around us, guns trained on Optimus. There was maybe a dozen men on the abandoned road, each bearing similar rifles. Optimus was unconcerned and called for his comrades.

Craning my neck, I tried to peer into the other cars and see if Sam's parents were in them, but I couldn't see much at all. I hunkered down and leaned in to whisper to Sam. "Where are your parents?"

He gave me the most venomous look and snapped, "I don't know! I don't know, Kat! How would I know? Do I have a sixth parent sense where I just _know_ where my parents are? They were in another car and it took off so I don't know! I don't know!"

My face burned and I was momentarily stunned. "Wha—Don't you _dare_ take your frustration out on me! I was only concerned!" I said once I'd recovered.

"Sam, Kat?" Mikaela murmured.

Sam stiffened in his seat but didn't back down. "Well don't ask stupid questions! We're locked up in handcuffs with an evil government entity and they have my parents who knows where!"

"I understand that, but that doesn't give you the right to talk to me like that!"

"Sam! Kat! We are not the enemies!" Mikaela berated. "The Autobots are here, so everything is fine now! We're all stressed, but can we please stop?"

I was hot all over, the very definition of steaming mad. Around us a commotion had started so I focused on that instead, ashamed that I couldn't even follow my own advice from earlier. The rest of the Autobots had appeared behind us, converging from a railroad bridge that overlooked the road we were on. The shouts were from surprised agents.

"Gimme those!" came Jazz' voice, slicing through my rage.

My fight with Sam was forgotten for the moment as relief ballooned and I whirled to see him mere feet away. He hand one hand up and the guns the men were carrying were ripped from them and sped to Jazz—like a magnet. I turned as guns shot overhead from the front of the car in time to see the driver take one to the face.

"Shit, you okay?" I asked, leaning toward him a little bit. I didn't know why I should care but it looked like it hurt.

He just nodded and put a hand up. Guy sure didn't _look_ okay but I forced him from my mind and turned toward Jazz, hoping to climb from the car. Jazz noticed me and gave me what I thought was a wink and said, "Sorry I'm late, little miss," while dropping the guns nearby.

Next to me I could still feel Sam stewing, and I wanted to get away from him. However, Jazz motioned for me to stay put for the time being.

The Autobots surrounded the car, creating a sort of corral where all the humans were gathered. Optimus drew our attention and crouched down to his hands and knees so he was more eye level and leaned in to address the two agents.

"Hi there," Simmons greeted Optimus nervously, complete with a tiny wave. He and the others had their hands up in defeat.

"You do not seem afraid. Are you not surprised to see us?" Optimus asked, optics narrowed.

"Look, there are certain. . .S Seven protocols. I'm not authorized to communicate with you—except to tell you I'm not allowed to communicate with you," Simmons explained, indicating to the bots around him.

"Get out of the car," Optimus demanded angrily, his optics narrowed.

"Oh, yeah. Me? You want me to get out of the car—"

"Now!"

Simmons and the driver started, then they both turned around and climbed out of the car. "Ok, ok. Get out of the car, c'mon," he said, waving his hands. Sam and Mikaela turned in their seats while the other two climbed out.

"I'm getting out of the car. See? Out of the car. That was nifty how you—how you put us down without really hurting us."

I twisted where I sat to pry open my door, but an agent outside opened it for me and I scrambled free before shooting Simmons a triumphant sneer. "See? I told you that they wouldn't very happy about this."

He narrowed his eyes at me but knew better than to say anything.

Somehow Mikaela already had her handcuffs off by the time we were out of the car. I waited for an agent to free me, as well, but no one made a move to so I turned a questioning gaze to my companion. She grabbed Sam's hands and used a bobby pin to force the handcuffs open and pulled them off of him.

"So you get out of handcuffs, too, huh?" Sam asked incredulously.

Mikaela ignored him and removed my restraints for me, too. I sighed with relief and rubbed the spot where they had grated against my wrist bones. "Thanks. Never thought I'd ever be in those things and I hope I never am again. You'll have to teach me that sometime."

_Y'know, just in case I want to go on a crime spree in the future and need to know how to escape the authorities._

She managed a shy smile. "Sure."

Sam and I turned toward each other and I swiftly averted my gaze, marching toward Jazz, who was standing sentry by the confiscated weapons. He noticed me and kneeled down. "'Ey little miss, they didn' hurt ya or nothin' did they?"

I shook my head and stopped in front of him, my hands on my hips. "No, but why didn't you stop them from taking us in the first place? I'm tired of being kidnapped, Jazz!"

His faceplates contorted into a grimace and he vented air in a sigh. "I wanted t'get ya, I really did. Optimus said we shouldn' expose ourselves t'other humans, y'know? But we weren't gon' leave ya wit' 'em! We came an' gotcha."

"Ho really?" I laughed. "He didn't want you to expose yourself to other humans? And yet it was okay to traipse around in Sam's yard."

Jazz paused, then leaned away. "Uh. . . ."

Sighing, I raised a hand and closed my eyes. I wasn't upset with him, I wasn't upset with the Autobots or even Sam. I needed to calm down, breathe, and stop yelling at everyone. Jazz was patient and waited, as if realizing what I was doing.

"Sorry," I said at last. "I understand. It's fine. I'm okay. I just. . .I'm so tired of this, Jazz. I'm so tired of being shoved into cars and I'm tired of all this stress. Sam bit my head off earlier when I asked a question." I motioned toward where he was standing, conversing with Mikaela with a solemn look on his face. Mikaela was annoyed.

My guardian remained quiet, content to listen. I was more than happy to keep talking. "This whole thing just sucks. I'm so tired and its cold out. . .and. . . ."

"Big guys. Big guys with big guns!" someone shouted somewhere off to the side.

He reached out and angled his hand behind me. I sat down and rubbed my eye, looking around as Ironhide herded the agents to the side of the road. Cars could be heard in the far distance, but the country road we were on was otherwise deserted with nothing but field surrounding us.

If a train went by we might be in trouble, but I figured the Autobots would know before then.

"I know, little miss. It'll be okay. We'll get y'all outta here an' figure out what we gon' do wit' the glasses. Did y'all find 'em?"

"Yeah, but where did you guys go? What made you actually hide?"

"Sam's parents showed up an' started shoutin' an' stuff, so we hid."

Ratchet approached behind Jazz and nodded to me. "Kathryn, you would do well to relax. Your blood pressure is above normal levels and your vitals are indicating high levels of stress."

Glaring at him I said, "No shit? You don't fucking say."

"Your hostility is unwarranted," he scoffed.

Jazz stood, scooping me up as he did so. I wobbled, but managed to stay seated. "Ratchet get outta here, I got it under control. You gon' stress her out further."

"I'm fine, I'm fine. Sorry, Ratchet. For snapping at you," I conceded with a great sigh. I was desperate to have the topic of my mental health dropped, so I motioned toward the guns piled up near Ironhide. "What are you going to do with those?"

He looked where I was pointing and said, "We will consume and break them down. We will use the raw material ingested to reproduce necessary resources, such as ammunition."

When all I did was stare at him with a blank look, Jazz translated. "We gon' eat 'em."

Ratchet made a backfiring sound, like a snort. "That's putting it succinctly."

Lips pursed, I nodded and shook my head at the same time. "Yeah, sure, why not. Gonna eat 'em, he says. Why not? Why not. . .robots eating metal, sure. Make sense. Put me down, I'm gonna go talk to humans for a bit."

Jazz chuckled and set me on the ground. I gave his wrist a pat before marching toward Simmons and where he stood on the curb. Now that I was "relaxing", as Ratchet had so graciously advised, the chill of the night was beginning to creep in. I didn't have a jacket at the moment and I crossed my arms to huddle against the cold.

"What's Sector Seven?" I demanded, making Simmons and his driver turn to face me.

Simmons shook his head, hands no longer up. "Look, I can't tell you. Besides, I'm the one here who's supposed to be asking the questions, not you, young lady."

Brow raised, I motioned toward his detained men and the large aliens surrounding us. "Oh really? You're in a position to conduct an interrogation?"

He grimaced, but the defiance never left him. "Afraid I can't talk to about it."

Glowering, I jabbed him in the chest with my index finger. "Oh no, no if my _dad_ was part of you guys, I want to know what's going on!"

"Hey you can't touch me!"

"Shut up and tell me what my dad did with you guys!"

He puffed out his chest and shook his head. "Whatever he told you he did was what he did."

"Background checks?" I clarified dubiously.

"Background checks," he insisted with a sarcastic quip.

Mikaela walked up behind me and put a hand on my shoulder. I turned toward her and made a sweeping gesture toward Simmons. "Guy's surrounded by mechanical alien soldiers with guns and still thinks he's God's gift to Earth."

She rolled her eyes and addressed him. "How'd you guys know about the aliens anyway?"

"Where'd you take my parents?" Sam prompted as well, taking up his place next to me. We locked eyes for a brief second but he broke the gaze first and said, "Sorry, by the way."

I shrugged. "Me too."

Simmons looked between us too, livid and voice tense. "I'm not at liberty to discuss—hey!" Sam hummed and went digging around in his inner coat pocket. "If you touch me that's a federal offence!"

However, he made no move to stop Sam and gave a fleeting glance to the robots around us, rightly afraid of what they might do. Bumblebee, Ratchet, and Ironhide were watching over us while Jazz spoke with Optimus.

"Do-whatever-you-want-and-get-away-with-it badge, eh?" Sam said, flashing the insignia in Simmons face. "Now it's ours."

"Yeah, brave now with his big alien friends over him," Simmons countered meekly.

"Where's Sector Seven?" Sam asked, examining the badge with Mikaela off to the side.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Simmons countered irately.

Shaking my head I said, "Just let the Autobots deal with them. We're not going to get anything out of this asshole. We're not exactly qualified to interrogate people."

The agent made an indignant sound and growled. I turned toward him and walked closer. "Oh sorry, did I hurt your feelings? Sucks for you. Do you get off on throwing your fake power around and shitting on the rights of Amercian citizens like that? Was my dad a secret asshole like you guys?"

He gave me something like a piteous look and shook his head. "Your father was a good man, a hard worker. He was invaluable to the team."

"Yeah, doing background checks, sure."

"If you wanted to join Sector Seven, I could tell you all about his _background checks_."

I shook my head. "I would never work with you jackasses in a million years."

"Then I'm afraid you're going to be locked up with the rest of your delinquent friends over there while we take apart your alien buddies and see what makes them tick!" he snarled.

Without thinking I slapped him hard across the face. The sound pierced the night air and he looked at me, flabbergasted, holding his reddened cheek. He opened his mouth to say something, but a plug of some sort bounced off his head and drew his attention. Simmons rubbed the spot, looking confused, then fluids splattered all over his head, neck, and back. I let out a squeak and danced away, trying not to get splashed.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Simmons yelped.

I looked up to find Bumblebee—I don't know how else to explain it— _relieving_ _himself_ all over the agent. I made an affronted grunt and held the part of my shirt that was wet away from my skin. "Bumblebee what the actual hell? What is this, anti-freeze, or lubricant? Ugh that's just. . .so mature," I growled, wiggling the fabric dry.

Mikaela was trying to hide her smile when she walked up to me. She put a hand on my shoulder and glanced over to Bumblebee. Sam was chortling quietly somewhere nearby and I wanted to smack him, too. "He get it on you?" she observed.

"It's fine, probably. . .just hope it can wash out," I sighed, rubbing my forehead.

"Bumblebee, stop lubricating the man!" Optimus sighed, sounding exasperated. I was beginning to come under the impression that Bumblebee was the youngest.

"You are all going to get it!" Simmons vowed.

The Autobot scout did as he was told and shrugged at Optimus, as if trying to tell him he hadn't really meant it at all. Jazz cuffed him over the head and motioned toward me, but I didn't hear what he said over Simmons ranting and raving. He was shouting threats at everyone, but we paid him no heed as Optimus came to us.

"Restrain these men if you would, children."

Though I bristled again at being lumped in with the "children", I worked together with Sam and Mikaela under the supervision of the Autobots to handcuff everyone together. They didn't make a fuss, not keen on earning the ire of their alien captors.

Mikaela stormed up to Simmons and the driver while I restrained the last guy. They were standing by a the railroad crossing sign. "Alright tough guy, take them off."

"What are you talking about?" Simmons asked, still wiping his face clean of fluids.

"Your clothes. All of it. Off," Mikaela demanded, her hands on her hips.

"For what?"

Mikaela poured on the attitude. "For threatening my dad and general assholery."

"No!" Simmons refused with added force.

I walked up next to Simmons and motioned Jazz to come a little closer and he complied, brandishing his crescent-shaped blaster. "If you won't do it yourself, I could get _him_ to do," I offered with false sweetness.

Jazz nodded his head in greeting. "Sup?"

Simmons sized up Jazz for a second, then started to strip his suit jacket and pants. He had a white undershirt on with the Sector Seven logo on it. "This is the beginning of the end of your lives. After this, I will make sure you rot in jail with her dad. You're all criminals now. Let's face it, it's in her gene pool and she's rubbing it all off on you guys."

"Those are nice," Mikaela commented, pointing to Simmons' underwear; a pair of Hawaiian-print boxers with "aloha" written in cursive. "Now get behind the pole."

"This is such a felony what you are doing, young lady," the driver warned.

Mikaela continued to ignore them and pulled the two behind the post, locking them together with a set of cuffs.

"I will hunt you down!" Simmons declared as we walked away.

"He'll hunt you down!"

"With no remorse!" Simmons added.

"No remorse!" the driver echoed.

I turned around to glare at him, then motioned to the shiner around his left eye. "You alright? Need some ice or something?"

He seemed a little confused at my concern, but shook his head. "Just a bruise."

"Well good 'cause I don't have any ice," I retorted, turning away from him and standing in front of the rest of the suits with Sam and Mikaela. "What do we do with them now?"

Sam shrugged. "I guess leave them here and go with the Autobots."

Though I opened my mouth to speak, I stopped at a strange but familiar sound in the distance. "Do you hear a helicopter?"

"Optimus! Incoming!" Ratchet declared suddenly, making us all jump. I spun around to see what he was talking about, and found bright headlights coming toward us, maybe a half mile out. Spotlights swept the ground in front of the vehicles and the buzz of helicopters grew louder and louder.

Jazz dodge-rolled in front of us with his while the other Autobots formed a defensive line in around us humans. Ironhide punched the ground, creating a blue shockwave of electricity. All the lights flickered off around us and the cars ahead died to the EMP as well, skittering across the asphalt on blown-out tires.

"Autobots! Roll out!" Optimus demanded. All of them but Optimus transformed into their alt modes and I was already edging toward Jazz.

The helicopters, unperturbed by Ironhide's stunt, zipped toward us.

My heart thundered in my chest and I jogged the rest of the way to Jazz as Bumblebee tore off, his tires smoking. Jazz' door opened and I scrambled inside, struggling to sit straight in the seat while he peeled out, wheels screeching. I settled in and noticed the two teens standing by Optimus.

"What about Sam and Mikaela? Bumblebee's leaving them!"

_"Optimus has 'em don' worry,"_ he assured me. Though I wasn't feeling particularly assured when I saw Optimus _running_ in the opposite direction.

I slapped my palm against the steering wheel a few times. "What is he _doing_?"

Jazz turned sharply and I was almost thrown into the passenger seat. _"Optimus knows what he doin'! Put on ya seatbelt, I gotta lose these guys!"_

Whimpering, I pulled my seatbelt on and sunk as far into my seat as I could. Helicopters followed us from the air, but we all split off from each other. I was most worried for Ratchet, as his form was the most conspicuous, but he was on his own.

Black SUVs followed closely behind us with police lights flashing, but I doubted they could keep up with the Autobots. Not when Jazz claimed his top speed was over 400 miles per hour.

If we could stay out of traffic.

Which we didn't.

We eventually found ourselves on a busy street, threading around other people on the road. Every time I glanced at my mirrors, I spotted a black car following us and the loud thunder of helicopters roared over our heads.

"If you keep weaving through traffic we'll look suspicious," I pointed out.

_"No backseat drivin',"_ Jazz growled.

"I'm in the _driver's seat_!" I hissed.

He sighed. _"I have t'get ahead of 'em first, little miss."_

With a groan I pressed myself back into the seat and closed my eyes. My fingers dug into the plush seats and I braced against each turn. If I couldn't see it, I couldn't freak out. If I couldn't freak out, I couldn't distract Jazz.

Minutes later, we screeched to a halt and I was tossed forward into my seatbelt. It stiffened to keep me from falling too far, and then I was slammed back into my seat.

_"Get down."_

I ducked down without question, sliding as low into my seat as I could until I was staring up at the ceiling. Everything was quiet for a few seconds, and then I heard a few cars shoot past our hiding spot. I waited a few more minutes, not daring to move or make a sound. I barely dared to even _breathe_.

_"A'ight. We lost 'em,"_ he said several moments after the sound of choppers faded into silence.

Even if he said that, I stayed hunched down for a few extra seconds before sitting up straight in my seat. It was an odd position and my back was sore. "You sure?"

After a moment's pause he said, _"Ye'h I'm sure."_

Finally, I allowed myself to relax by a margin. "I'm gonna need a lot of therapy after this is all over," I muttered to myself, rubbing my temples in soothing sircles. I glanced at the dashboard and narrowed my eyes. "Did _you_ know about my dad?"

The car vibrated. _"Huh? Naw! Wait, wha' didn' I know 'bout ya pops?"_

"He was one of them! Before he died. These, Sector Seven bozos," I harrumphed. I was probably being unreasonable, but I couldn't hold myself in check.

_"'Ey calm down, little miss. I didn' know nothin'. I mean we knew they was pr'y already aware o' us, but tha's it,"_ he assured me. _"They chased Bumblebee an' I when we first arrived, searchin' fer th'Allspark, 'member?"_

I took a breath and shook my head. "What about my dad being an agent?"

_"We knew he was workin' fer th'gov'men, bu' this Sector Seven thing is pretty secret."_

"Secret," I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "What do you mean? You said you could hack into anything."

Jazz rumbled. _"I_ can _! Jus' sayin' they was secret! When I was tryin'a find ya pops, all we found was where he lived, tha' he was married'n had a daughter. Said he worked fer th' gov'ment but nutin' else. We didn' need his whole life story, jus' where t'find him."_

Raising my hands in defeat I conceded to his points. "Alright, alright. Sorry. I'm just so sick and tired of all these surprises. Aliens, government conspiracies. . .I'm just done."

His engine started and he pulled forward out of the alleyway he'd backed into. _"I know, little miss. Just a little longer'n this'll all be over. Gotta catch up with th'others. Optimus stayed in his proto form t'keep they attention an' lead 'em away from us."_

That explained why he'd just been running away when everyone else transformed and rode out as cars. I didn't know how he expected to hide, but I'd just have to trust his judgment.

After all, Jazz seemed to, and I trusted him. At least a little bit.


	13. Into the Night

Nothing in the area looked familiar—though to be fair I was in an unfamiliar city miles and miles away from home—and none of the other Autobots were in view. It didn't help that Jazz was driving in stealth mode: no headlights or anything of the sort. He assured me he could see just fine, but my inability to see the road made me nervous.

Though I was unsure if Jazz was looking for his comrades, he seemed to be heading somewhere with a purpose so I kept my eyes open as we zipped through the quiet edges of the city. If they were driving in the cover of darkness, I probably wouldn't see them anyway.

Hopefully Sector Seven was good enough to keep the high speed chase off the morning news. That or have an air-tight cover story. If one good thing came from them, it would be that.

I really hoped it was the former. The latter meant I might end up being recognized or even named. If I thought I was getting a lot of shit from the "prank cop" back home then I was never going to hear the end of it if I was on the morning news.

"There they are!" I pointed, leaning as far forward as the steering wheel would allow.

Ironhide and Ratchet passed by us on an adjacent street and Jazz turned sharply to fall in line with them. They were being followed by neither car nor helicopter, to my relief. They'd passed under a streetlight and the Topkick was easy to recognize in silhouette.

It took a quick look to realize we were missing one yellow Camaro. "Where's Bumblebee?" I asked aloud, unable to keep the worry from my voice.

_"Dunno, little miss. We on route t'meet wit' Optimus, though. We'll find 'im."_

The scout had to be looking for Sam and Mikaela—either that or he had taken a different route to lose his pursuers and was out of sight. He could handle himself, though. Of that I was certain.

We turned down a road running over an expansive irrigation ditch. Helicopters droned on nearby and Jazz screeched to a halt alongside his comrades. I straightened in my seat, straining to see what had happened and where Optimus and Bumblebee were.

"What's going on?" I asked just before noticing the helicopters and group of SUVs down at the bottom of the ditch.

My eyes widened and I leaned forward a bit more. "Is that _Bumblebee_? They have Bumblebee!"

He was laid out at the bottom of the channel, his limbs splayed as if pulled. The helicopters circled him, dragging him by a line that I couldn't see from the distance. People swarmed around him, spraying a fine, white mist all over his prone form.

"What are they doing to him? We have to help, Jazz go help!"

The three vehicles pulled forward and turned onto a bridge suspended half a mile across from where Bumblebee was, out of the human's line of sight. I turned in my seat, trying to watch the scene unfold as Jazz pulled around. It was far and I could only make out the familiar form of the agens, but couldn't tell if Sam or Mikaela were one of them.

"Jazz!"

 _"Hang on, little miss. Optimus's orderin' a cease fire,"_ he finally replied, pulling up to the middle of the bridge. The door opened and I climbed out.

He transformed out of vehicle mode and put a hand up before Ratchet and Ironhide could do the same. "Hang back," he commanded, then he leaped over the side of the bridge. My breath caught and I ran over to the railing, peering down.

For a giant robot, Jazz was more lithe than I would have given him credit. He hung and twisted, maneuvering down into the structure of the bridge like an acrobat. "Optimus," he called.

I looked around, running along the side of the bridge, following the sound of movement in the underbelly. Part of me wanted to climb down after him, but I knew I would end up slipping and falling to my death. That or I'd make Jazz do something stupid to save my clumsy ass.

"We jus' gonna stand here an' do nothing?" I faintly heard Jazz demand.

"We can't free Bumblebee without harming the humans." I had to lean as far over the railing as I could to hear the conversation, and even then I only barely caught what they were saying. I understood Optimus' reasoning, but wasn't there _some_ way they could free him?

"It ain't right—"

"Let them leave," Optimus interrupted. Had he not sounded so pained by the decision, I might have been angry at him. Something in his voice sounded so wounded. It was enough to kill the protest that had been rising to my tongue.

_Sometimes you have to make the tough decisions when you're the leader._

Shuddering against the cold, I turned to see what was going on with Bumblebee. The cars were beginning to leave and the helicopters had a subdued Bumblebee still on the ground. Agents in white hazard suits tossed a tarp over him, and when it was in place the helicopters took off with their Autobot captive hanging below them.

"It's too cruel," I muttered. Was Bumblebee aware of our inaction? Wondering why we'd abandoned and left him to be captured? And what of the two teens? Optimus was below the bridge, hiding, but I couldn't hear Sam whining so I assumed he wasn't present.

"If Optimus would just let me, I could free him easy!" Ironhide's voice made me jump and I glanced over my shoulder. He was in his bipedal form, looking out over the ditch as well.

Ratchet had also transformed, and he was standing at the other side of the bridge. "We will get him back eventually. Trust in Prime's decisions. Bumblee can take care of himself in the meantime," he assured us.

"What if he can't? They had him. . .unconscious or something. They might kill him!"

Ironhide shook his head. "If that were the case they wouldn't have bothered capturing him."

Pursing my lips I muttered, "I guess," before joining them across the road. Optimus was on the side, away from the commotions, looking at his fingers.

"Where's Sam and Mikaela?" I called to him. "They had the glasses."

He turned toward me and lifted his hand. "It is alright, I have them now. Sam and his friend were taken into the custody of those men again."

A giant hand scooped me up and I gasped in surprise, wriggling slightly. "Hold still," Ironhide grunted before leaping over the side of the bridge. I hunched in his grip, bracing against his digits as he fell to the ground. He didn't have the same kind of flair that Jazz had, and he landed heavy on the channel below. Somehow, he managed not to jar me.

My proper guardian met him and Ironhide handed me over. I sat in the crook of Jazz's elbow, my back to his chest and a hand gripping his metal bicep to keep steady.

"You cold little miss?" he asked, likely prompted by a violent shiver.

"Only a lot," I admitted with a grimace. "Didn't think I'd be outside this much."

Jazz pressed me closer to his chest and a mechanism inside him buzzed in my ear. Heat radiated from the grill of the Solstice's grill and I huddled as close as I could without burning myself. "Must be nice, controlling your temperature like this."

"Jus' ventin' some heat is all," he replied with a chuckle.

Optimus walked over to me and extended his hand, holding the glasses out to me. "Will you hold on to these for me?" he asked.

"Sure, I'll watch the McGuffin," I muttered, carefully stuffing them in my pocket. "What do we do now?"

At least Mikaela and Sam were safe, if being strong-armed by Simmons.

The Autobot leader turned and looked out to the distance. "We find somewhere secluded and find out what the glasses have to tell us."

*:･ﾟ✧

Jazz' heater blew at full-blast and I pressed my freezing fingers to the vents. We'd been sitting at a dark park near the irrigation ditch for a few minutes already, but I was still trying to purge the last dredges of the cold.

None of the Autobots wanted to make a move with Sector Seven so close. Jazz had been silent for a while, monitoring chatter to secure our escape from the city. Despite having caught Bumblebee, the occasional chopper patrolled the sky, but I hadn't seen any of the black SUVs crawling around. That didn't mean they weren't out there, though.

They would be looking for us. I didn't know for how long.

For once the team had taken my advice and split up. I hadn't the slightest idea where the other three were, but I tried not to worry. Ratchet had limited options on hiding places that wouldn't look suspicious, Optimus had a few more choices, but for Ironhide and Jazz the world was their oyster.

And yet we were parked in a small wooded area, a single streetlamp lighting the way several yards to our left. I didn't mind so much—it was quiet and calm.

No other cars, no men in suits. Just the radio, a loud cricket, and Jazz.

When my hands were warm enough and the chill had fled my bones, I leaned back in my seat and allowed myself to relax. "Hey, Jazz?"

 _"Ye'h?"_ His voice always made the radio quiet down.

"Are you sure Bumblebee and those two are going to be okay?"

_"Course. They wanna interrogate an' stuff. 'Sides, there ain't much you human's got that c'n hurt us. He'll be okay."_

It wasn't quite good enough to quell my worries, but I dropped it and fell silent for a moment, looking around the interior of the car. What was left of my things were in the passenger seat, but it was all spare clothes and hygiene items.

There wasn't much room inside Jazz: The Solstice was a two-seater. I ran the palm of my hand over the upholstery and asked, "Does it. . .like is it uncomfortable? Being in this shape, I mean."

His engine purred, making him vibrate underneath me. _"Naw_. _These cars li'l different from our terrestrial forms on Cybertron, but it ain't bad. Bit cramped maybe. But it better'n your old car. The parts were all outdated an' rusted. . . ."_

"What does that matter? You've got your own parts."

_"Ye'h bu' when we pick up new disguise we copy the whole car, down t'the last detail. Tha's how come you c'n still fill me wit' ya gasoline."_

"So then. . .your parts can still go bad if you use the same Earth car for too long?"

_"Ye'h."_

None of that made any sense and left me with more questions, but I guessed the explanation would be a veritable scientific mechanical lecture, and I wasn't ready to put up with that. I was exhausted both physically and mentally from the long day. The clock was winding to well past midnight.

Next thing I knew, Jazz was pulling from our hiding place. I had only dozed for a few minutes. "Is it safe to hit the streets?"

_"We got th'all clear t'roll out. Ya hungry'r somethin'?"_

Food. I hadn't so much as thought about eating since we all stopped at the McDonald's before meeting with the rest of the Autobots. I sighed and shrugged. "Yeah, I guess I am. But the _man_ has my purse, which has all of my money in it. So I'm kinda S-O-L."

He was quiet for a moment, then asked, _"Still got ya phone?"_

I fished around in my pockets, but there was nothing. "No. They stole it from me when they pulled me out of Sam's house. Why?" I groaned. This night couldn't get any worse than it already was.

_"Ne'mind. What bank ya use?"_

My eyes narrowed and I hesitated to answer. "Why?"

_"Gonna getcha some money. 'Less ya want me t'steal it?"_

"No, don't do anything stupid like steal. . . . United Bank NA. It's the bank I work at."

 _"A'ight then_."

We drove around seemingly forever until Jazz found a desolate building with an ATM outside rather than inside. It ended up being at a different bank, and Jazz asked if I wanted him to keep looking. I said I was fine paying the transaction fee.

Still, my unease kept me planted in my seat. "What am I supposed to do?"

_"Jus' walk up like ya gonna use it. I'll have it pull up ya info."_

It seemed a little weird, but I did as I was told and climbed out of the Jazz-Solstice. I tried to look natural as I walked up to the ATM, relieved that there was no one in the parking lot except for Jazz and a lonely car that looked like it had been left for the night.

The screen was freaking out by the time I reached the machine. First I thought it was broken, but after a few minutes of pages and glitchy pixels flashing by faster than I could follow, it settled on a page with my name and account information. It was a little disturbing that he could hack into that information in so little time, but at least it was my account.

The possibility of it being other people's accounts was there. It wouldn't take him any effort.

Ignoring my balance—I was kind of afraid of how much money this road trip had cost me, though gas was not part of the expenses—I went straight to withdrawing cash and pulled out fifty dollars. If I needed more, I figured Jazz could pull the hacking stunt again.

 _"What ya feel like eatin'?"_ Jazz asked once I was back in the car.

A large part of me wanted to sit down and have a real meal at a sit-down restaurant, but I knew that at any moment Optimus could call us all together.

I figured that if I brought it up Jazz would tell me he could wait, but I didn't want to make Optimus wait. Besides that, if I was at a sit-down restaurant eating something healthier than fast food, it would be by myself. I'd be _that_ person, and I didn't want to be.

Being as late as it was, I'd be stuck going to a Denny's or an iHop and I didn't want either of those two places.

_Fast food it is, then._

"Something quick I guess. Something's that open this late at night," I mused aloud, settling into the seat and buckling up.

_"A'ight, then after that you gon' get some sleep. Had a rough last few hours."_

That sounded like heaven. "You won't get any complaints out of me. Sorry _you_ missed out on your 'meal', though. Shame, really. Those guns were probably delicious."

He barked out a laugh. _"Joke's on you, Ironhide stowed a few in his subspace."_

"Really?" I scrunched up my nose. "You were being serious?"

_"Ye'h. We can't jus' materialize ammunition or grow new skin like organics. Gotta come from somewhere, so we ingest raw material."_

I shook my head and said, "But the guns?"

_"They were available."_

"Did you really throw my car in the lake or did you _eat_ it?" I asked suspiciously.

_"Thought about it."_

"Jazz!" My outrage was fake and I giggled, a little slap-happy from the hunger and exhaustion. All I could picture was Jazz sitting in my driveway tearing off hunks of my car and gobbling them down like chips.

_"Well I did. But tha's a lotta metal. Wouldn'a had time so I tossed it in the lake."_

"When?"

_"Late one night. Y'all have terrible night vision so it was easy t'carry it off."_

Sighing, I rolled my eyes and pointed. "That place is open, just pull up there," I said, changing the subject. Though I found the idea of them eating stuff hilarious, I was still salty over Jazz leaving my car to a watery grave.

*:･ﾟ✧

_"How's it?"_

"I can feel my arteries clogging," I commented around bites of burger.

Jazz snickered and pulled off the highway, onto a road leading to a well-lit Super Wal-Mart. Optimus had called us all together and with a few recommendations from me, brought us to the mega store. With it being so close to the freeway, it had large parking spots in the far back of the lot for truckers who needed a break.

Most Wal-Marts allowed you to stay up to 24 hours in the parking lot, so it had been the obvious choice. None of us, save for the Search and Rescue Hummer, would look out of place. We spread out with Jazz and Ironhide nearest to the store, but Optimus wasn't far away.

Soon as we were settled, I headed inside to toss out my trash and use the facilities. When I returned, Jazz stressed that I needed to sleep.

No matter how much I wanted it, though, sleep evaded me. Jazz had done his best with the interior, but it was much smaller even than the Stealth form he'd taken, and I was finding it difficult to find a comfortable position.

But above all, I was worried about Sam and Mikaela and Bumblebee. Worried about what they were going to do with them.

Worried that everything I knew about my father was a big fat lie.

Was Mom in on it all as well? I dismissed the thought as soon as it occurred. She wouldn't have known if it was secret, and she was terrible at keeping them anyway. Mom was the one who let slip that Santa and the Tooth Fairy weren't real, shattering my childhood before I was even ten.

Simmons and his lackeys had been so awful. The rational part of my mind tried to remind me that they were like that because they were on the job. Maybe if they were home on their down time they were perfectly normal, but you can't turn off being an asshole. Dad had had his moments where he blew up a little bit, but that was normal, right?

He wouldn't have done all of that stuff. He would have been against ripping up Judy's nice garden and threatening a white-collar family.

If he thought his family was in danger of aliens, maybe. . . .

No, I had to believe that he was upstanding, as always. I couldn't let Simmons tarnish the memories I had of my father. I wouldn't make him guilty by association. Even if the doubt was there, nestled in the back of my mind, I would force it down and remember my father as a great man.

I just needed to sleep on all the information. That would make it all better.

 _"What up little miss?"_ Jazz asked suddenly, making me start.

"Why do you ask?" I murmured, settling back into the fetal position.

_"You ain't 'sleep yet."_

"And how would you know?"

His reply was matter-of-fact. _"Yo temperature drops when ya sleep. Breathin' changes."_

Grimacing, I conceded his point. Might as well tell him the truth, not that it would help. "Just got a lot on my mind, is all."

Jazz was silent a moment, then said, _"Ya can' get comfortable neither, can ya?"_

"There is that, too." Though I didn't really want to complain, I also _really_ wanted to sleep. I sat up and hugged my legs to my chest, resting my chin atop my knees. "It is a little more cramped in here than before."

_"Hang on."_

He fell quiet after that and I looked around warily, wondering what he was going to shift into next, but nothing happened. My brow knit together as I waited, then a yawn seized my whole body for a few moments.

 _"Optimus got room fer ya t'lie down an' a built-in cot,"_ he suggested at last.

It was a kind gesture, but it also gave me instant unease. I wasn't even sure why. The sound of a cot sounded nice, though; those truckers needed somewhere to sleep while they were on the road. I wasn't sure how it was supposed to work, though. Would it even be comfortable?

Maybe I was apprehensive because I barely knew Optimus, though he seemed like a perfectly honorable robot. I shifted uncomfortably and stared at my shoes. "Will he really be okay with that?"

_"Ye'h! I already asked 'im."_

That left me with zero excuses, and I was ready to crash. Maybe it would be a good chance to get to know the Autobot leader a little better.

However, I still found myself hesitating, trying to come up with some reason not to. I wasn't unwilling to leave Jazz, it was simply that I knew him better than the other Autobots. He was my security blanket for the moment, the one person I felt safe with. My mouth opened and closed while I tried to come up with something, but it seemed Jazz knew me better than I thought he did.

He chuckled warmly. _"You ain't gotta be 'fraid. . .Optimus don' bite. I'll park closer to 'im so I'm not far, kay?"_

My cheeks flushed and I hugged my knees a little tighter. "I'm not _scared_!"

_"Didn' say ya were!"_

"You did too. Said I didn't have to be _afraid_."

_"I didn' mean it like tha'."_

Determination battled my misgivings and I was desperate to prove that I wasn't _scared_ , of all things. Not of Optimus. I sat up straight and crossed my arms over my chest, jaw set and shoulders squared. "Alright, fine. Take me to him," I grumbled.

Jazz snickered but said nothing else on the matter. His engine purred to life—I had a feeling he didn't _need_ to turn on the engine, probably just liked the way it sounded—and he pulled across the parking lot before stopping a few spots away from Optimus. The engine cut out and my door opened, but I didn't hop out right away.

_"G'night Kat. Optimus a real nice guy, kay?"_

I sighed and rubbed my forehead. I wasn't ever going to live this one down. "I know I just . . .just seems so weird. . .hope no one's watching," I muttered, swinging my legs around and hopping out of the small sport's car.

 _"Naw, jus' act natural,"_ Jazz teased. _"If anythin' it'll explain why ya could afford such a nice ride."_

"Good night, Jazz," I harrumphed, slapping his hood. I couldn't help but glance around for any lookie-loos who might think I was climbing into some strange semi-truck for the _wrong reasons_ , but this part of the Wal-Mart parking lot was almost empty.

Optimus' door opened when I was close enough and my cheeks broke into another blush. If anyone _was_ looking, they definitely had the wrong idea _now._

Sighing, I climbed up the giant truck and was surprised with how much room it actually had. I could stand up in the cab without hunching over or crouching. The seats had high backs and arm rests, all lined in leather. The cab had all kinds of compartments to stow items away in. Peterbilt really wanted it to be a home away from home.

_"Good evening, Kathryn."_

The suddenness of his speech almost had me leaping back out, but I managed to hold myself still. My face still burned, but I pulled myself further inside so he could close the door behind me. "Evening. . .Optimus," I murmured, unsure if I could call him that or address him as "Mr. Prime".

That wouldn't have sounded right, either. Maybe his full name? He didn't correct me, though, so I decided to continue calling him Optimus.

 _"I'm afraid you may not find the amenities comfortable. When I transformed into this vehicle it was with only the bare essentials,"_ he said, sounding about as unsure of himself as I felt. _"If you need to, you might go into that store and buy something to sleep on."_

"I'm sure it's fine," I assured him. In reality I wasn't feeling particularly inclined to buy something I was only going to use once.

At least, I _hoped_ I wouldn't be stuck living with the Autobots on the road for more than a day. I already missed my bed and it had only been two days. Even when I'd gone on road trips with my parents we stopped at a hotel.

No way I was paying for a hotel room, though.

He remained silent and I maneuvered through the cab until I was in front of the meager living compartment at the back of the cab. There was even a small cubby to hang clothes on built into the walls. It was roomier than I would have ever guessed. The cot that Jazz had mentioned was suspended over the floor.

If it could be called a cot. It was more like a slab of wood with vinyl over the top.

A curtain rod was mounted over the opening, but the curtain itself was missing. Apparently that was one of the things you had to purchase yourself.

Still, it was better than sleeping all curled up. If I'd been used to that already it wouldn't have been so bad, but my bed was a queen-sized memory foam mattress. Making the adjustment to car seats and trucker cots was a big change.

I ran my hands over the makeshift bed, surprised to find it was cushioned to an extent. I pushed on it and it gave a small amount.

"Oh—see there's some cushion here. You'd still probably need to buy a mattress or sleeping bag to make it livable but for one night it'll be just fine," I said, trying to convince myself as much as I was Optimus. There wasn't _that_ much cushion.

It was still going to be a long night. Maybe my exhaustion would knock me out.

 _"That is excellent to hear,"_ Optimus offered, picking his words carefully.

An awkward silence descended over us and I sat at the edge of the cot, bouncing slightly. I had to say something. "Are you okay with this? I mean, sitting here in the parking lot until morning. Do you guys. . .sleep?" I asked after a few moments.

_"Not the same way humans do. However, we do require an occasional hard reset. We refer to it as recharging."_

"Hard reset and recharging," I echoed, smiling. "Gotcha."

Optimus turned off the cabin lights and the air inside began to warm to a lulling temperature. _"Get some sleep, Kathryn."_

 _Right. The whole reason I came over here_. I nodded and kicked my shoes off, placed them neatly nearby, and then stretched out on the bed. It was going to be about as comfortable as sleeping on a waiting room bench, but at least I didn't have to curl into a ball. How I longed to spread out like a puddle on my own bed.

"We're going to get them back, right?" I asked, stifling a yawn.

_"As soon as we can."_

Taking a deep breath, I rolled over to face the wall. Now that I was able to get semi-comfortable, exhaustion finally took over and I fell into an uneasy sleep.


	14. All the Miles

Falling.

I was falling.

My body jerked and I picked my head up off the vinyl surface it was resting on. Rather, peeled it off. I looked around through half-opened eyes and pushed myself up onto my hands. Nothing I was seeing looked familiar and I tried to recall where I was. I tried to shed the fog of sleep and figure out why I was in a truck cab.

Truck cab.

The truck drove over a pot hole or a bump in the road and my body jerked with it, making me realize it wasn't falling I had felt earlier. I propped myself up on my arms and crawled backwards into the corner, crouched over. "Jazz? Jazz!"

 _"Easy, easy,_ " a familiar voice said through the radio, making my head snap in that direction. _"You're safe, Kathryn. What's wrong?"_

For a moment I stared at the dashboard, then I sat up straight with my legs curled under me. I blinked more sleep from my eyes and rubbed at them with a closed fist. Optimus. Optimus had let me sleep in his cab last night. I yawned and wiped some drool from the corner of my mouth.

"I'm okay, sorry. Just woke up a bit confused I guess," I murmured, voice still heavy with sleep.

_"One of your. . .human dreams?"_

"Hmm?" I gave that a bit of thought. Faint memories of metal hands, a cube wearing old glasses, and a barking robot dog disappeared into a mist and I shook my head. "No. Maybe. I'm alright now."

I swung my legs over the side of the cot and slipped my shoes back on. Another yawn left me as I stretched my arms over my head, making my vertebrae pop in a couple places. Then I got up and moved toward the front so I could take my place in one of the seats. "Where we are we right—ahh!"

There was a person sitting in the driver's seat. I stumbled back in surprise and tripped over the passenger seat, landing in a huddled heap, back against the door and legs bunched up.

"Who the hell!"

The person flickered like a TV with bad signal and I stared at him, bewildered. He didn't look at me, just kept staring at the road with his hands on the wheel. He was completely average-looking: salt and pepper hair, sunglasses, a gray snap back ball cap, and a hideous, plaid flannel shirt.

_"Ah, apologies. I didn't mean to startle you. It's just a hologram."_

Said hologram flickered again, and I straightened myself in the chair, head tilted. "A hologram?"

 _"My windows are not as dark as the other Autobots. I created this hologram so it did not look like a truck was driving itself. Was I too cautious?_ " Optimus asked. I noticed there was no music at all, not even quietly like when I was riding with Jazz.

I leaned forward and reached out with my hand to run it through the man's arm. It shimmered and I felt a strange current, but sure enough it was a hologram and not a real man.

"No, it's fine. Who is this?" I asked, unable to look away from the strange vision.

_"A man I passed a few hours ago. He was driving his own truck."_

Everything about it was weird. The more I stared at it the more uncanny it was and I had to look away. "Like the cop car. . .Barricade."

_"He used a hologram?"_

"Yeah," I said. "Some guy with a mustache."

_"It is a valid strategy to keep from being noticed."_

His speech was so formal I felt a little uneasy talking to him, like I was in an interview or a conference meeting. I fidgeted in the passenger seat and tried to get a feel for where we were. As far as I could tell we were on a freeway, but I didn't know what direction we were going and all I saw was open range—no landmarks to navigate by.

And I didn't see the other Autobots, either.

"Where are we?" I asked, leaning to see into the side view mirror. All I saw was my own harried reflection. I tried to fix my hair. "Where are the others?"

_"They are behind us. We had to move early this morning, as your government was once more on patrol. Once we reach the next town we will stop and try to figure out where the All Spark is. Do you have the glasses?"_

I leaned back in the seat and straightened my clothes and hair. "They're in Jazz' glove box. Why didn't you wake me?"

_"Ratchet informed me that you were stressed and would need your sleep."_

That guy was riding my nerves. I knew he meant well, but the fact that he was scanning me all the time and monitoring my vitals had me on edge. He wasn't asking permission, first of all. I was seconds away from complaining but decided to keep quiet. It was probably a good thing someone was paying attention to my health. Heaven knows I wasn't.

Still, I wished I was riding with Jazz. Optimus was nice, but it was like trying to have a conversation with a stuffy businessman.

_"Are you hungry?"_

"No," I replied. "Not right now, anyway. I can wait until we get into town."

_"It will only be thirty minutes."_

I nodded absently and looked out the window at all the nothing. Every now and again the monotony was broken up with an oil pumpjack or some cows, but it was a boring drive and Optimus seemed perfectly fine with sitting in silence.

 _"There is a child here that is making a strange gesture,"_ Optimus announced after about fifteen minutes had passed.

"Hmm?" I tore my gaze from a lonely tree and looked around for the kid. "Where?"

_"In front of us."_

At first I didn't see him, but finally I spotted some movement in a car in front of us. It was a little boy, maybe eight or nine. He was pumping his fist in the rear windshield. I smiled and sat back in my seat. "He wants you to honk your horn."

_"Why?"_

I shrugged. "I don't know. Trucks have a cooler horn than most cars, I guess."

Optimus was silent one second, then his horn was blaring the next. It startled me and the child in the car, but after it passed the kid was bouncing around in excitement.

"Aw look at that, you made his day."

_"I am glad I could bring him joy."_

The fact that he sounded so genuine made me smile, and I continued to do so even as the more-comfortable-than-before silence spanned. He took a lot of stock in us humans, though for the life of me I couldn't figure out why. Had my great grandpa and his crew left that big of an impression, or had Optimus seen something else?

*:･ﾟ✧

Eventually the half hour passed and Optimus pulled off into a Shell gas station. I almost insisted he stop somewhere else, but I didn't want to make a fuss.

So a few strangers would think I was a hitchhiker. At least I didn't _look_ like I was homeless.

"Thanks for letting me chill, Optimus. It was nice talking to you," I said with a smile. It wasn't a platitude, either. He wasn't much for idle conversation, but he was kind and polite.

_"You're welcome, Kathryn. Don't be long."_

"I won't." I shut his door behind me and scampered into the gas station to take care of business and bought a bagel sandwich with egg and sausage from the store. Jazz was waiting in a front parking spot when I left and I took residence in his driver's seat once more.

He followed the others out once I was seated and said, _"How'd ya sleep?"_

"Fine, thank you. A notch below my own bed, even," I teased, grinning around my meal.

_"See? Told ya ya din't need t'be afraid'a ol' Prime."_

Rolling my eyes, I retorted, "Don't make me 'accidentally' spill my drink all over your interior."

_"You wouldn'!"_

"Don't test me," I chirped. Before he could reply I changed the subject. "I feel kinda bad."

_"Bout what?"_

I shrugged and picked up a stray crumb from my jeans. "I drooled all over his cot."

There was a pause followed by a suppressed bout of snickering. _"Ya drooled when ya was sleepin' in here, too. But it fine, Optimus ain't said nothing."_

"Yeah, alright."

Jazz let me finish eating in peace and not soon after we set out, Optimus led us into the meeting place he chose. It was at the far edge of the city, whatever city it was we were in. A large observatory was nestled away from the pollution of light and smog, empty during the day when the stars could not easily be seen.

After a quick scout, Jazz and Ironhide determined it was safe and the band of Autobots drove around the back of the sand-colored building where any lookie-loos wouldn't be able to spot us.

They transformed into their biped forms and Jazz picked me up to set me down on the first roof level. I stood back until Optimus approached and asked for the glasses. I'd already pulled them from Jazz' glove box and held them out to him—the lenses were cracked and the frame was bent, but they'd been cracked already when Optimus had given them to me the night before. Hopefully the bent frame wouldn't ruin anything.

"Thank you, Kathryn," he said with a nod.

"You're welcome," I murmured as he turned away.

"Please. . .let this work," he intoned.

Jazz had climbed a level higher than me atop the observatory and I glanced up at him as he spoke. "Fire it up, Optimus."

As if he needed prompting. The Autobot leader turned and lifted the glasses out at arm's length. He focused on the lenses and scanned them with a light from his optic receptors. When they hit the lenses, a huge hologram of Earth projected from the glass.

"The code. . . . The code indicates that the All Spark is 230 miles from our current location."

230 miles. I rubbed my face with my hand and sighed. If I ever had to take another road trip after this was all done, it would be too soon.

He dropped his hand and the hologram disappeared with a flicker.

"The Decepticons will be preparing to mobilize. I can feel it in my circuits," Ratchet said, turning to Ironhide who stepped up next to him.

Ironhide nodded. "It's only a matter of time before they figure out where it is, too."

"Wha' 'bout Bumblebee?" Jazz demanded. "We can' jus' leave 'im t'die and become some sorta human experiment."

I turned to Optimus. "He's right, Optimus. They'll torture him and take him apart. The way it works here is if it's not human, it has no rights. At least Sam and Mikaela will just be held in a cell for a while and questioned."

"If we don't move now and get to the All Spark before the Decepticons, this whole planet will die and Bumblebee's sacrifice to save the children will have been in vain." Optimus shook his head and handed me the spectacles again. I carefully tucked them into my pocket. "He is a brave soldier, this is what he would want."

"But why are we fighting to save the humans in the first place?" Ironhide argued. "They're a primitive and violent race!"

Jazz gave him a sour look and Ironhide cleared his vents. "Present company excluded."

"It's alright," I said, lifting my hand. It wasn't _that_ alright, but I knew what he meant.

Optimus turned to face us again. "We were not so different, Ironhide. They are a young species and have much to learn. But we have seen goodness in them, have we not?"

Everyone nodded—well, Ironhide still didn't look convinced—and I felt like this was a conversation I wasn't really supposed to be hearing. Like I was a third wheel eavesdropping. I couldn't imagine what "goodness" he was talking about besides my great-grandpa, so what else had they seen of us and our species?

Their interaction with humans was limited to our government attacking Bumblebee and Jazz when they first arrived, and then finally capturing Bumblebee and kidnapping the three of us humans.

Though I suppose since they had badges it wasn't really "kidnapping."

Still felt like it.

And if they spent so much time learning about us from the internet, I was one hundred percent _certain_ that there was more bad things on the internet than good. Maybe if they managed to stay away from the _dark side_ of the internet they'd seem some good. Maybe he'd seen a bunch of those "faith in humanity restores" posts.

"Freedom," Optimus said, "is the right of all sentient beings. You all know there's only one way to end this war: we must destroy the Cube."

That statement hung in the air for a moment like a ticking bomb.

Wasn't that their planet's power source? The very thing that created them?

"If all else fails, I will unite it with the Spark in my chest."

"That's suicide!" Ratchet finally said, outraged. "The Cube is raw power. Doing that could destroy you both!"

I lifted my hand and stepped forward. "Woah woah that sounds like a stupid idea. Just jettison the thing back out into space or something and make them go chase it down somewhere else," I suggested. "That worked last time, right?"

"No," Optimus sighed, turning toward me. "That won't stop the war, just move it somewhere else. I predict Megatron would just bring it back, as well. Your technology is perfect for transforming into our kind. He wants to build a new army."

"Oh." I leaned back against the wall Jazz was standing on and ducked my head. "I remember you saying that now."

"Optimus ya still can' be serious," Jazz said, making me look up at him. He was so much shorter than the other Autobots, I kind of understood why he was standing up on the building where he could be eye-level with the others.

My poor, tiny guardian.

"It's a necessary sacrifice," Optimus said, turning his head away from the others. "to make sure that the human's don't pay for our mistakes."

I shook my head and furrowed my brow. "I'm sure there's a better way."

It seemed to fall on deaf ears. Optimus glanced down at me momentarily, then turned back to his Autobots. "It's been an honor serving with you all."

"Hang on now," I said, lifting my hands. I looked around for some sort of support from the others, but each of them was hanging their heads, resigned. "You're acting like you're already marching to your death or something!"

Ratchet leaned down toward me. "We very well could be, Kathryn."

"This is war," Ironhide added, some bit to his tone.

Optimus nodded and faced the scenery, squaring his shoulders. "Autobots, roll out." He punctuated the command by taking off toward the road and transforming.

Jazz jumped down from the wall and I watched the other two Autobots follow their leader, feeling a deep helplessness. They were all ready to charge out into a fight their leader seemed so determined to kill himself in. Maybe this mindset was why I never signed up for the military. . .I just couldn't imagine it.

That and the idea of being yelled at for several months during boot camp was anything but appealing. But that's beside the point.

"Don' worry little miss," Jazz said, startling me.

I shook my head at him. "You can't be okay with this, with Optimus' plan, right? There has to be another way."

He shrugged and picked me up gingerly before jogging to catch up with the others.

"He's our leader. We trust his judgment."

"Unconditionally?" I marveled.

"Sometimes," he chuckled. He tucked me in toward his chest with both arms and his form shifted around me. Metal clanked in my ears and spun close to my head, but I was ultimately tossed into the driver's seat without harm.

My breath left in a shudder and I glared at the windshield. "I hate it when you do that."

All he did was snicker in response.

*:･ﾟ✧

"You know where we're headed?" I asked, fidgeting with the station dials. No matter where I turned it, I couldn't get a proper signal to listen to anything.

We were driving right behind Optimus, the other two Autobots following close behind. I had suggested letting Rachet drive out front since he had sirens we could use to clear the path, but they hadn't seemed interested in that.

Jazz was silent at first, but soon he replied. _"I'm not sure. Somethin's messin' wit' yer relays. . .I think it's some sorta dam, big tourist attraction. Doesn't make any sense though."_

"Do you mean the Hoover Dam? And what doesn't make any sense?"

His frame vibrated and he vented air in an irritated gush, disturbing my hair. _"We can' sense th' AllSpark, but we getting' so close. They have it hidden somewhere tha's blocking it's signature. Tha's why we needed th'glasses."_

"That's how Sector Seven lured you and Bumblebee out, right? You said they duplicated the signal somehow."

 _"Ye'h,"_ Jazz said.

"Gotta watch out for us humans," I murmured, leaning back into my seat.

_"Y'all're crafty."_

Once more I tried the radio, but for all my efforts I earned only static. Groaning, I crossed my arms over my chest and complained. "You said something's messing with our relays or something. Is that why I can't get a radio station? Some sort of signal jammer?"

He replied, _"Pr'y th'Decepticons. They gettin' ready t'make their move so they blocking all communication. We can' hardly communicate wit' each other if we weren't this close."_

"Oh, right, you guys can talk to each other like computers can, right? Sending signals?"

_"Tha's right, little miss."_

"You guys have your own language?"

_"Course."_

"Say something!" I requested, unsure why it made me feel so excited.

For a second Jazz remained quiet and I thought maybe he was thinking of something to say. Then, the radio exploded into life. It rang like feedback from two phones being too close while in a call. I flinched away from the speakers and the sound changed into something akin to a crashing dial tone, then a demonic grinding of gears into strange syllables.

It took everything I had to keep from slapping my hands over my ears, but I didn't want to be rude when I was the one who asked.

Luckily, Jazz finished whatever he was saying and the noise died down.

"Holy shit what did you say?" I asked, trying to ignore the ringing in my ears.

_"Sorry, I was a li'l loud. Bu' I said 'this is what Cybertronian sounds like.'"_

I shook my head and said, "That's crazy. How are you even able to speak English?"

_"We c'n make our vocal processors move however we wanna. We ain't limited in biology like y'all are. We more flexible."_

"That's one way of putting it," I muttered under my breath. Considering the shapes and sizes they contorted themselves into on a regular basis simply changing from vehicle mode to bipedal mode, it wasn't so farfetched.

The further into Nevada we drove, the more the surrounding scenery turned into a grassland desert. It was surprising how dry it was when the Hoover Dam was a mere couple hours away. Vegetation was starting to become more plentiful as we moved closer to the Colorado River, but it was mostly barren hills and tumbleweeds.

"No radio, no scenery. . .we're not even close enough to see Las Vegas from a distance. . .gonna be a long drive," I sighed, tilting my head back.

_"Be glad fo th'downtime. Gonna get rough today."_

"How rough?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at the dashboard.

Jazz remained silent for a couple of seconds, then sighed. _"The Decepticons won' practice restraint. They destroy anything an' anyone tha' tries t'stop 'em. I have half a mind t'take ya and drive far away once Optimus' got the cube."_

Crossing my arms over my chest, I glared at him. "You can't do that."

Even though the objection left me easy enough, the thought of being a bystander or—heaven forbid—a participant in an alien war didn't particularly appeal to me. In fact, it scared me to death.

_"An' why not?"_

"There are already so few of you here. You can't just abandon your team like that."

 _"Ye'h bu' I can' leave ya alone in some town, either. I got a job t'do—I gotta protect ya,"_ Jazz countered, tone matter-of-fact.

My selfish side begged me to agree, to tell him to drive the other way and keep me safe. That I wanted to be about as close to the fighting as he wanted me to be. I was only one person, though, and I couldn't hoard Jazz to myself when his comrades needed him.

"Sure you can," I argued. "I'm a big girl. I can find some way to entertain myself."

 _"We won' know f'sure where the Decepticons'll strike,"_ he pointed out, an edge to his voice. _"I can' promise where I drop ya'll be safe."_

Though I knew it pointless to argue, I wanted to come to a compromise somehow. "Well you know where the cube is. Just leave me in the nearest city and go get it, then lead the Decepticons far, far away from there."

He growled, _"I don' wanna leave ya."_

"Well you can't ditch the Autobots so you'll just have to bring me!"

_"You'll be in danger!"_

So I leaned back and closed my eyes. I would regret it, but I couldn't just think about myself like a scared child. "You'll just have to protect me while kicking some Decepticon ass, then. Optimus would never agree to your absence and you would be miserable missing a fight!"

Jazz was silent for a few minutes while he mulled the thought around in his head. When he spoke, it was with a sharpness and seriousness I'd yet to hear. _"You gotta listen to everything I say, got it? A lot's gonna be happening an' I don' want you making a misstep. You can follow orders if it means saving your life, right?"_

"Of course I can. I don't have a death wish," I retorted. "And I'm not _that_ stubborn. I don't have an issue with authority."

_"You was bein' pretty sassy with them agents that picked ya up at Sam's."_

Sassy?

Rolling my eyes I said, "That's different! They were being jackasses and were taking me against my will! It should be by no means a measure of how well I can take an order."

 _"Jus' promise you'll be careful?"_ Jazz said after a moment.

I smiled and nodded. "I promise, Jazz. I'm not ready to die yet."

 _"Good,"_ Jazz sighed. _"I'm not ready t'lose ya yet."_

The words stirred emotions I hadn't been expecting and I turned away from the dashboard. I couldn't think of anything to say in response so I let his proclamation hang there. After a moment, I set my forehead against his window and closed my eyes.

"Just don't let anyone step on me."

He laughed and I pulled away with a smile, carefully wiping off the smudge I'd left on the glass.


	15. Chasing Echoes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! That's it for this batch of chapters. Chapter 15 gave me a lot of trouble, so let me know what you think! The next batch should be up soon, cuz I'm really excited to get out these next changes and get started on the sequel! I can't even contain my excitement, I'm so ready to begin the next big adventure of Kat and Jazz!
> 
> Thanks for everyone's support!

Time dragged on as we drove through the largest expanse of jack shit I'd ever seen. The last time I was on a road trip was when I was eleven and I didn't quite remember it being so boring, but maybe that was because I'd had something to entertain myself with.

Now we didn't even have the radio, all thanks to the bad guys. I didn't know how they were doing it, but if Jazz hacking an ATM was child's play, it wasn't impossible.

At some point Jazz had mentioned a particular Decepticon, but I forgot his name soon after.

Jazz did his best to keep me somewhat amused. We talked about his home planet for a time and it certainly sounded fantastical. He painted pictures of large metal buildings, molten energy rivers, and spanning, shimmering cities. They had all lived regular lives before the planet started to die off due to war and its missing energy source—the AllSpark.

He spoke of it with such awe and reverence that I hoped one day he would be able to return to his home. I was homesick after two days; I couldn't imagine centuries away.

After a while though, conversation petered out and we came to a standstill, much to all the Autobot's chagrin. The two-lane country road was under construction, and without the satellites working they hadn't known until it was too late.

 _"Why isn't anyone moving?"_ Ratchet demanded, startling the living out of me.

"What the hell! How're you. . . ?"

 _"Open comlink,"_ Jazz offered.

I narrowed my eyes. "Could they hear _all_ our conversations?"

_"Naw, I opened it jus' a min ago."_

There was a little relief to be had from that, but I was still uneasy knowing they could hear and be heard no matter where they were. I only wished Jazz had given me a bit of warning.

Ratchet grumbled again, _"_ Why _isn't anyone_ moving _?"_

"There's construction ahead," I explained, waving my hand in the general direction in front of us. "Just go around. You're an ambulance. Turn on your sirens and lights and blaze us a trail through the cars. It's either that or you could let Optimus or Ironhide bulldoze through them."

 _"I like the sound of that. Optimus?"_ Ironhide piped up.

 _"Ironhide, we don't harm humans,"_ the leader chided him, exasperated.

"It's not hurting them, just nudging them out of the way," I said with a wry grin, glancing in the rearview mirror at Ironhide. He was shuddering with anticipation.

_"See? Just a nudge! Just to move 'em!"_

_"Ironhide! Kathryn, please don't encourage him."_

"Sorry," I snickered. Jazz shared in my mirth with a quiet rumbling of his engine.

The line began to move as traffic going in the opposite direction resumed. The road was cut down to one lane, so each one had to take its turn in the flow. Ratchet and Ironhide revved and honked impatiently, and there was an intensity coming from Jazz, too. Optimus was silent as ever, but his idle was rough and jumpy.

"Ratchet!" I chirped.

_"Hold on, lemme open the line again. . . . Okay."_

"Rachet, turn on your sirens and _go_! You're all making me nervous."

_"They will move?"_

I nodded. "You're an emergency vehicle. They _have_ to move for you. Ride along the shoulder, Optimus can go behind you, Ironhide and Jazz will stick close so we can follow you out. They'll move for you, then they'll stay in place while giant Optimus blazes through."

 _"An' we'll ride his wake,"_ Jazz finished.

"Yup. Easy peasy."

He took a moment to deliberate, then his sirens were wailing to life. The bright lights flashed and Ratchet drove over the shoulder. People were stubborn, though, and didn't start moving until Ratchet started honking, too—at my urging.

Optimus forced their hands, powering through as they started to move from Ratchet's path. He didn't have a hitched trailer, but he was still formidable.

 _"Won't they find this suspicious?"_ Ratchet asked.

"Yeah but it doesn't matter. They're bound by law to move outta your way." Technically it _was_ an emergency. The whole world was at stake and we were stuck in traffic.

We earned a dozen horns blasting at us, a few shouts, several curses in combinations I'd never heard before, and even more rude gestures. I tried to ignore them all, but found myself sinking farther and farther into my seat.

Jazz tried to soothe me. _"Don' worry 'bout them. We off t'save th' world! By tomorrow they won' even 'member this."_

Still, I stayed hunched and hoped nobody questioned how I was able to drive.

Eventually, we were back on the clear road. Ratchet kept his sirens on and we zipped as fast as we could down the freeway. Jazz' speedometer once again never went past 80, but I knew we were going faster than that. This time, I didn't say anything.

With the temporary distraction of road construction gone, there wasn't much to do. Jazz and I decided to play some games and we fell back on find the entire alphabet. An open comlink was established again and Jazz involved everyone. Optimus was out in front leading the way, but Ratchet was close behind and ready to start the lightshow at the first sign of heavy traffic.

I explained the rules, and we decided to try the game as a collaborative effort until they got the hang of it, but they picked up my simple game pretty quickly.

Ironhide was by far the most competitive, and about ten letters into the game it turned into Jazz and I against everyone else and we had to start over. Ratchet and Optimus didn't join in at first, but they ended up being swept up in the competition and starting participating.

My quiet ride with Jazz escalated into mud-slinging and Cybertronian insults. I didn't mind so much, since Jazz seemed to be having a good time. It was nice seeing them unwind.

When the alphabet game devolved into everyone but Optimus shouting letters haphazardly, I stepped in and recommended playing a different game. Optimus had humored us for a while, but when the friendly bouts became more severe, he'd distanced himself into a mediator position.

"Alright alright, settle down," I shouted over an insult match between Jazz and Ironhide. It was the third one in the span of ten minutes. "Let's play a different game."

_"Good idea, Kathryn."_

"We'll play I Spy. The rules are simple, give a single clue to something that you see. It has to be something we aren't going to pass right away, like let's see. . . . I say something like, 'I spy with my little eye, something black."

Jazz picked up after that. _"Then I'd guess, 'Ironhide's fat aft."_

_"What'd you say?"_

"Jazz," I groaned. "But yes, that's the idea. Whoever guesses first gets to be 'it' the next round."

 _"Who goes first?"_ Ratchet asked.

Of course, Ironhide wanted to.

We didn't get far into the game before Ironhide found a way to make it unplayable. He wound up ignoring the color clues and spouted off anything he could see as fast as he could in order to win, though he barely managed to guess anything right. Ratchet was the one who showed the most aptitude with the game.

Optimus might have been playing along, but he barely spoke up, probably to keep from being distracted from the goal. But he never tried to put a stop to our games, no matter how intense Jazz and Ironhide became.

After a disastrous I Spy round, I told them how to play the game where you try to guess what a car's license plate said. It really only worked with vanity plates and if there were other cars, but it kept them quiet for a few minutes at a time. We were eating up the distance, blazing down the road at ridiculous speeds, but being stopped at the construction had set us back a bit.

Our group shot by a Honda someone had suped up for some reason—rims, a big spoiler, the works—and Jazz shouted out the vanity plate without missing a beat.

 _"What does 'swag' even mean? You made it up!"_ Ironhide snarled.

My guardian snorted and vibrated with irritation. _"I didn't neither! Th' thing_ clearly _says 'swag life' ya slaghead."_

_"Why don't you transform and we'll settle this like real 'bots, pipsqueak!"_

_"Pipsqueak?"_ Jazz roared.

"Jazz calm down it's just a game!" I cooed, patting the dashboard. The angrier Jazz was the more the car shook and swerved. The last thing I needed was for these two to get into it on a highway, even if the only car we'd seen in miles was Mr. Swglfe, and he was already but a memory on the horizon.

Heaven forbid Jazz become so angry he crashed. I doubted it would come to that, but I didn't want to risk it, either. "Ironhide, he's right so just move on."

 _"Save it for the Decepticons, you two,"_ Ratchet sighed. He and Optimus had stopped playing.

The two Autobots grumbled over the com line for a moment. No one was apologizing, though, and I took it upon myself to mediate so Optimus could focus.

"Maybe we should just stop playing these games," I suggested, "until you two can cool off."

 _"Who ain't cool? I cool,"_ Jazz said.

There was a brief moment of silence, then Ironhide had to edge in the last word. _"And small."_

_"Tha's it!"_

Jazz lurched, his breaks locked, and then he spun around on the road to face the (much larger) incoming GMC Topkick. I gripped my seat and braced against the back, eyes wide. Before I could open my mouth to say anything, to scream, _something_ , Jazz's form shifted around me and I was deposited unceremoniously—if as gently as possible—flat on my ass on the asphalt.

With a giant pick-up truck roaring toward me.

Jazz hunched over and hooked his hands under Ironhide's grill and tossed him over his shoulders with what seemed like minimal effort. Ironhide didn't even have time to transform before he landed on his roof, wheels spinning in the air.

"Now shut up!" Jazz admonished, jabbing a finger in the weapon specialist's direction.

I was too stunned to move, but I let out a surprised squeak when Jazz picked me up and transformed around me, tossing me back into my seat and driving after the others like nothing had happened. A tremor chased up my spine and I turned slightly to see Ironhide revert to his bipedal form just long enough to flip right-side over and drive after us.

 _"You try that again without the suckerpunch and see how well it works_ ," Ironhide challenged over the radio.

 _"Are you two quite finished?"_ Optimus demanded. His horn blared ahead of us.

 _"Sorry Optimus. I had t'take out th' trash,"_ Jazz sneered.

Ironhide growled and I tried to steady my beating heart long enough to figure out the best way to go about yelling at Jazz. Ironhide continued his rant; _"If you weren't carrying a meat-bag I'd gun you down with my canons, you little pest!"_

"Meat-bag?" I echoed incredulously.

 _"You take tha' back! She ain't a meat-bag!"_ Jazz made angry swerves over the road.

 _"Jazz, Ironhide, cool it!_ " Optimus commanded. It wasn't one of his normal commands—his voice was deeper, more menacing. It certainly shut them up.

The radio clicked, making silence fall over the car for a little while. After a moment where I just sat and glowered, Jazz' sheepish voice came through. _"Sorry 'bout tha' little miss. I shouldn'a lost my temper like that_. _You ain't hurt?_ "

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then grunted. "No, but I swear to god if you ever dump me out like that again I'll—I'll—"

_"Okay okay I got it, sorry—wait."_

"Wait what?"

But when he spoke next It wasn't to me. _"Optimus, d'ya feel that?"_

 _"I've felt it for half a groon,"_ he responded.

Ratchet added, _"If you and Ironhide hadn't been bickering, you would have felt it too!"_

"What's a groon?" I asked. "And feel what? What's going on?"

 _"Bout an hour,"_ Jazz said. _"An' ya 'member how I said we could feel th'Spark's energy? Well we feelin' it now."_

"Yeah?" I shifted in my seat and peered into the sun-parched landscape. It looked like there was something far far in the distance, but the sun was bright and I knew it made things appear when there wasn't anything there. "Is it where the glasses said it would be?"

_"It comin' this way."_

"By itself?"

 _"Probably not,"_ Optimus interjected. _"It cannot move on its own. But it has been coming this way for a while now. Should intercept in the next breem."_

Shaking my head, I faced the radio. "But if it's coming this way and can't move on its own, that means it's probably with our government or our military. You'll have to fight for it. You might have to engage humans. Will you be able to? You wouldn't even do it to save Bumblebee!"

Jazz cooed to calm me. _"We'll figure it out when we get to it. Don' worry little miss."_

"Well what's a breem?"

_"Little more'n eight minutes."_

I went to check my phone's clock, then remembered that I didn't have it. A large part of me was itching to play Angry Birds, but such was life. Instead I watched the clock on Jazz' dashboard as the minutes ticked by. There was a distinct tinge in the air—excitement. As the AllSpark grew closer, the more anticipated the Autobots were.

Almost exactly eight minutes later, the small dots I thought I'd seen on the horizon appeared and materialized into true shapes: a caravan of military vehicles. I pursed my lips and mentally prepared myself for an upcoming battle. However, I noticed something else in the group.

A glint of yellow paint.

"Is that. . . ?" I leaned forward and squinted against the sunlight glaring off of Jazz' silver surface. It certainly _looked_ like him.

_"Sho is."_

My face broke into a wide grin and I let my breath out in a relieved huff. "He's alright! Does he have Sam and Mikaela? What's he doing with the military?"

_"Ye'h, the two're with 'im. They was holdin' 'em with the AllSpark, seems."_

I sat back down and tried not to get too excited. "How long have you known he was there?"

_"Not long. Decepticon've disrupted most long-range communication. Been 'bout three mins'r so since he could contact us."_

"And you were going to tell me when?"

_"Thought this'd be more theatrical!"_

Rolling my eyes I said, "You're a dork."

Our group passed them and Optimus slammed on his breaks. Jazz was forced to the do the same and his wheel cranked hard to the side. I was thrown against the door as he U-turned too sharp, and we fell in line right behind the convoy. I took it as a good sign that the military didn't open fire upon us and settled back into the seat.

"So what's the plan now?" I asked, stretching as tall as I could to see if Mikaela and Sam were safe with Bumblebee.

 _"Bee's got th' AllSpark. We headin' fer a rendezvous to get the cube somewhere safe,"_ Jazz explained. Everyone was driving right down the center of the road, forcing other cars off of it as we zipped along. _"Gonna meet somewhere called Mission City."_

"Where's that?"

_"'Bout an hour from Vegas. But we be there in half hour."_

I couldn't help the groan that resonated in my chest. "Does this mean I'm not gonna have to be cramped up in a car in a bit?"

_"Dunno, little miss. But th' Decepticons're on our tails."_

The implication behind his reveal brought me to pause. I furrowed my brow and wrapped my arms around myself. "What do you mean?"

 _"Gov'ment was keepin' ol Megs with th' Spark, too,"_ he explained, voice grave. _"Somehow he woke up from th' stasis they forced him into. Not sure how, though. But tha' means tha' Decepticons'll catch up to us soon enough."_

My face blanched and I fell back into my seat.

For a brief moment I had this glimmer of hope that we wouldn't have to fight at all, that the Autobots would be given the Cube and we'd move on with our lives.

What a dumb hope.

*:･ﾟ✧

"How much further?"

As the half hour wound down and buildings sprung up in the background, my apprehension and anxiety grew. The flat desert turned into a mega highway and traffic increased tenfold. People flit about their lives, travelling from one city district to the next or heading out to Vegas to enjoy what was left of their weekend. Carpooling, unaware of an impending alien insurgence.

All this time I'd wanted nothing more than to stop being in a car and driving, but now I wanted the military to slow their roll so I didn't have to see combat. I felt like I was going to puke.

There was nothing more I wanted than to distract myself with my phone, but freaking Sector Seven had it. At least I could blame any missed calls or texts on the Decepticons and their signal jammer. I tried to coax Jazz into conversation, but he was in the zone and responded like a zombie.

"Can you turn back and drop me off in Vegas."

 _"We reached the point of safe return, little miss,"_ he muttered, as if he'd only heard part of my question and was giving me a standard response.

I gave him my best Marge Simpson groan but didn't press it. I hadn't meant it, after all. Jazz couldn't leave his comrades if things were going to get rough. I was scared, but not that scared. A very small part thought it might be an exciting change of pace.

That part, however, was infinitesimal compared to the part that was scared.

The comlink Jazz left open to the other Autobots clicked and Optimus spoke. _"Autobots, we have company. Escort the Cube to safety."_

My eyes widened to saucers and I spun in my seat. "What? Company?"

 _"Optimus, allow me to engage!"_ Ironhide begged.

_"Stand down, I will handle it."_

Behind us a car flipped over, and another swerved to miss being hit by a giant truck. It had a large mechanical claw-scoop arched over it.

"What the hell is that?" I hissed through clenched teeth.

Jazz didn't immediately respond and I turned back to watch.

A car several lengths behind us was thrown into the air and traffic parted like the sea to reveal a huge military minesweeper vehicle. The car crashed to the ground with a shattering sound and another rammed into it. The giant truck continued its rampage, running cars off the road, shoving them out of its way, and using its articulated ordinance-clearing arm to flip cars over its body.

And still the Autobots chattered away over Jazz's radio.

 _"You sure you won't need help?"_ Ironhide prodded.

Ratchet scoffed. _"Optimus can handle that brute! Fall in line, soldier!"_

"Jazz," I whimpered. "Who is that?"

 _"Bonecrusher. Hate incarnate. He won' catch us,"_ he assured me.

Of course. Bonecrusher. Why wouldn't the Deception flipping cars into the air like he just didn't care be named _Bonecrusher_? Forget the fact that Cybertronians probably didn't _have_ bones to crush, so to say. Had to have picked that name _just_ to scare humans.

_Asshole._

Flashing lights drew my attention away from the military car and onto a familiar police cruiser. My face paled and my grip went white-knuckled on the steering wheel.

"Jazz!" I slid deeper into my seat so Barricade wouldn't see me. Like that would help.

_"Stay calm, little miss."_

Optimus fell back behind everyone and Ironhide joined Ratchet's side, the three of them forming a sort of blockade as the rest of us sped onward. I was turned all the way around in my chair, seatbelt tossed aside, and I craned my neck to see around the cars speeding away from the crash sites. The minesweeper was visible over the shorter cars.

And growing taller by the second.

"Jazz, Jazz it's gonna transform," I muttered. "It's a freeway! It can't transform in the middle of all these people!"

_"Don' think he cares."_

I glowered at the dashboard and jabbed a finger in its direction. " _You_ should care!"

Breaks squealed behind us and I turned sharply at the noise just in time to see Optimus begin his own transformation. A groan of despair rumbled in my throat and I grabbed my head between both of my hands. "No no no no no they can't have a droid death match here."

 _"Optimus'll do his best t'minimize human casualties, little miss. Ya gotta calm down and trust us,"_ he said, sounding abundantly patient despite my mini freak-outs.

The Autobot leader seemed to be at a bit of a disadvantage as Bonecrusher expertly maneuvered around the interstate like he was on rollerblades. I rubbed my face nervously and tried my best not to pull out all of my hair. "Okay, okay, sorry."

Jazz chuckled warmly. _"Now sit'own straight an' put on yer seatbelt."_

It took me a minute, but I eventually sat down properly and strapped myself back in. I kept my eyes on my rearview mirror though, watching as Bonecrusher tackled Optimus straight off our overpass and onto the roads below, leaving behind a bus that had been broken in half.

"Is he gonna be okay by himself?" I asked.

_"Ye'h. Optimus didn' get chosen to lead just cuz'a his inspirational speeches."_

His words made sense but it seemed hopeless. I forced myself to look away from the destruction behind us and stare straight ahead. My fingers dug into the lush pleather seats and I took a few deep breaths to calm my nerves.

_"Ya gonna be okay?"_

I nodded my head in jerky twitches. "I'll be alright."

 _Liar_.

He hummed—well, really he vibrated—like he wasn't convinced. At least he was talking to me now. _"D'ya need me t'sing ya a nice lullaby to calm yer nerves?"_

"No," I scoffed.

Jazz laughed and his seat warmed up underneath me. _"I know you ain't seen action afore but I promise I'll keep ya safe, m'kay? Ya don't gotta worry 'bout nothin' when yer with me,"_ he assured. _"Jus' remember wha' I said. You remember wha' I said?"_

Taking another deep breath, I relaxed a little more. "Do what you say and stay close."

_"Atta girl. Sit back an' relax an' enjoy th' ride."_

Somehow I managed to smile. My heart was still beating a mile a minute in my chest, but I knew all I had to do was trust in Jazz and the other Autobots. "I'll do my best."

_"I know ya will."_

"Where's Barricade?" I asked, glancing over my shoulder. A quick look down the road and in my mirrors wielded no results—no sirens, no flashing lights, just a few in the background as emergency vehicles responded to the crashes and mayhem.

For a moment Jazz said nothing. Then, as we followed the few military trucks up an off ramp, he addressed his comrades. _"Either'a you got eyes on Barricade?"_

 _"Took an exit a while back,"_ Ratchet reported.

_"Likely to join Bonecrusher against Optimus. I'm going back for him!"_

_"You won't do nothin'a th' like!"_ Jazz admonished. _"Optimus gave ya his orders, now follow 'em! We're almost t'the city. Optimus c'n handle himself_."

Ironhide grumbled over the link, but made no further fuss about it.

The moment was enough to distract me from what was coming. I smiled at Ironhide's enthusiasm. If Barricade became a problem, we'd deal with him. There were four Autobots with us, after all. I was a little worried that Optimus wouldn't be with us in Mission City, but I had to believe he would beat his opponent and join us as soon as he could.

One of my hopes was that not many bystanders were sacrificed here on the road. Or once the fighting really began in the city—though I severely hoped that we could get the Cube out of there _before_ the fighting began.

That was the most desirable outcome. Besides, we'd only seen two Decepticons so far. The others weren't there yet and who knew how long it would take.

It was something to hope for. It was bad enough there were three civilians pulled into the collateral—Sam, Mikaela, and I—what about a bystander? Someone who had no idea what was going on or where the robots were coming from?

"How many other Decepitcons are there?"

_"Mm. . .a lot."_

Jazz: the world's most helpful robot.


	16. Take the Wheel

With Optimus playing an effective interference, there were no more issues passing the border into Mission City. Our motely caravan of cars pulled to a stop in front of the first pawn shop we crossed. A single military operative scrambled inside, though I couldn't imagine for the life of me what they'd want from such a place.

"Why are we stopping?" I asked, craning my neck to see inside.

"Bee says those soldiers gotta find a way t'establish communication wit' their people, so they're looking' for somethin' in there."

I sat back down and glanced around. "What would they find in a pawn shop?"

Jazz didn't have an immediate answer and before he could come up with a theory, the soldier returned to his vehicle with an armful of short range radios. Shrugging, I settled back into my seat and tapped my foot impatiently against the floor.

"See? Didn' take too long," Jazz teased.

"I guess not. I don't know what they're going to accomplish with some walkie talkies, though."

We continued our trek through the busy streets of the metropolis. The citizens of Mission City watched us go by with curious stares, some even pointing, and I found myself pretending to drive just in case. The Solstice's tinting wasn't as dark as the Stealth he'd been. I wondered if anyone else had a hologram driver up, like Optimus was using earlier, or depended on the darkness of their windows.

As I thought about the Autobot leader, I hoped he was okay.

"Shouldn't we be like. . .evacuating the city or something?" I asked, keeping my eyes on the road in front of us.

"Pr'y, but wit' yer communications down it'd be near impossible," he responded.

Suddenly, a sonic boom reverberated overhead as a jet flew by. Everyone rolled to a stop and the team of armed forces crawled out of their cars. Sam and Mikaela did the same, and I soon found myself following suit, but I didn't leave Jazz's side.

"You guys alright?" I called to the two teenagers.

They looked in my direction and their eyes widened. Together they jogged toward me and I met them halfway.

"You're okay!" Sam pointed out, reaching as if to put his hands on my shoulders. He stopped and let them drop back to his sides. "We didn't know what happened to you, you didn't come with us and then Bumblebee was captured. . . ."

Mikaela interrupted. "We're okay now, though. Captain Lennox says the Air Force is here."

I turned my gaze skyward as the jet passed overhead, as if on cue. It swooped by, disappearing into a tiny dot on the horizon. When I opened my mouth to say something, Jazz' horn blared and Ironhide shifted next to us. Green smoke was billowing around our ankles and wafting into the air, likely a signal to the pilot that we were there.

Ratchet backed up to give Ironhide room to transform, and his head was barely formed when he shouted out, "It's Starscream!"

"Starscream?" Sam repeated, turning on his heel. "That's—?"

"Another Decepticon," I warbled, backing toward Jazz. My hands started shaking, and I made it three or four steps before the backs of my knees hit Jazz's front bumper.

Bumblebee shifted into his biped form with Ironhide and the screaming started. I winced and walked around Jazz' side, my hands on his roof. His door opened and I slipped inside as Ironhide and Bumblebee hijacked an eighteen-wheeler advertising the new Furbies. The man driving scrambled out before they picked it up and angled it into a shield.

To block Starscream.

The jet. That could fly over us and give zero fucks about a truck.

"What are they doing?" I hissed. The drone of Starscream's engine grew louder as he circled back around.

"Giving Starscream somethin' t'fire at that ain't human," Jazz explained gravely.

As he said, Starsceam passed over us and fired a single warning shot at close-range. It hit the massive truck dead-on, and it erupted. Ironhide and Bumblebee were sent flying and the force of the explosion threw several people to the ground. I held tightly onto Jazz' steering wheel as he rocked and the earth quaked.

The dust cleared and Ironhide was staggering to his feet, but Bumblebee was not. He had been thrown against another car, his legs crumpled and one missing completely. Sam ran to his side as he crawled out into the street.

"Jazz? Jazz is he going to be okay?" I demanded, trying to find the door handle without looking. It wasn't working. Jazz gave himself a mighty shake, like a dog, and shed himself of pieces of building that had landed on his hood. "You have to let me out so you can transform and help!"

His legs—

—were gone.

It wasn't a human with missing legs, but the broken joints sparked and leaked a fluid, as if bleeding. My chest tightened and I jerked as Jazz moved back to give Bumblebee some room to get to safety. Sam called to Ratchet.

"Kat," he cooed, rocking slightly. "Bumblebee's okay. Look, Ratchet comin'."

On cue, a transformed Ratchet lumbered to Bumblebee and obscured our view. He dragged the yellow mech aside and Sam jogged after him, Mikaela trailing behind. It gave me a little bit of relief to know he was being taken care of, but when I looked around all I saw was devastation.

Soldiers scrambled around, helping their comrades up and pulling debris from others. People blocks away were screaming, civilians were running. Debris and rubble was everywhere, and Starscream was still soaring around. I heaved in breath after breath and put my hands on either side of my head, squeezing my skull.

"Kat, ya need t'calm down afore ya hurt yourself."

My breathing bordered the line of hyperventilating and I closed my eyes tight. "Jazz what are we going to do, we can't fight a jet! A jet, a minesweeper, a police car—what are we going to do? There's only a handful of military here, we can't do this! Bumblebee, Optimus. . . ."

Somewhere in the distance, I thought I heard helicopters. More Decepticons or reinforcements?

Maybe just the static buzzing in my ears.

I gasped for air and Jazz deposited me on the ground before he was crouched in front of me. "Kat, breathe. Yer alright. I won' let nothin' get ya."

A crash. Loud bangs. More screaming. I flinched and ducked down as round after round pummeled the natural cover created by Starscream's missile. The military ducked behind it and a dark-skinned soldier shouted into a radio.

Ahead, a tank crawled through the streets and over cars.

Jazz scooped me up protectively and I squealed. "A tank Jazz! You're a fucking sports car!"

"Kathryn," he barked.

The sharpness of his voice snapped my attention to him. I took the deepest breath I had in the past five minutes and shut my mouth. Never had I heard Jazz use my full name. His face was a picture of seriousness and he set me down where I'd be protected by a hunk of fallen structure.

"It's fine, Kat. They pick those forms to intimidate and strike fear. We pick our forms to blend in. We're just as strong, just as capable. Understand?"

When I nodded, it was a jerky motion.

"You remember what I told you earlier today, right?" He asked. I had gotten so used to his slang, and now he sounded like a completely different mech.

Ratchet was nearby, cursing in Cybertronian as he worked to stabilize Bumblebee's injury. Sam and Mikaela worried over him, clothes torn and covered in dirt. Sam had blood smeared over his temple and told Bumblebee over and over that he was going to be okay.

"Kat, eyes on me."

I turned back to look at him, my lips thinning into a line.

"Do you remember what I told you?"

"Yes," I muttered, my voice meek. "Listen and do whatever you say."

He made a single nod of approval and smiled in his way. "That's my little miss."

People shot past us and I watched them from the corner of my eyes. Jazz turned and gave Ironhide the command to attack, and the weapon's specialist transformed back into his vehicle mode and tore off down the street.

Jazz stood up to his full height and backed away from me. "Stay with Ratchet for now, stick close to the military. We gotta take care of Brawl."

Before I could protest or do anything, he turned back into a car and shot after Ironhide. One round from the tank hit too close to my location and I screamed in surprise, scrambling away and bumbling into Ratchet's flank.

"Careful!" he reprimanded, sparing me only a quick glance.

"Is he going to be okay?" Sam demanded.

Standing, Ratchet nodded. "Of course he is! It's just his legs. I can't reattach them now, but he's stopped leaking Energon. Don't touch any of it!"

Mikaela shied away from a small puddle she'd been standing close to.

"I have to join the fight. Follow the rest of these humans and vacate the area! It's not safe here for you children," Ratchet commanded.

"What about Bumblebee?" I asked.

"He can't move but he can still use his weapons. He'll be fine, so just get out of here!" Ratchet said nothing more on the matter before taking off to fight the tank. The military had returned to their vehicles and were returning fire.

Civilians sprinted away from the shooting in droves. It would make sense to go with them and get as far away from the fighting as possible, but I had strict orders from Jazz to stay by the military. I thought he was ranked higher than Ratchet, but I didn't understand the Autobot hierarchy well enough to make that assumption.

If I left, I knew he would find me, but I didn't know if he'd be angry.

Movement caught my eye—Mikaela was taking off across the street, running in the opposite way of everyone else. I thought of calling to her, but spotted what she was running to; an abandoned tow truck half a block away.

Bumblebee buzzed and I turned back to him. He was waving us away, but Sam remained steadfast. "I'm not leaving you like this!"

Well fuck, neither of them were leaving!

Another round of fire landed nearby and I ducked. Starscream was overhead, laying down a rapid hail of bullets in a trail along the ground. The screaming picked up fresh and I looked skyward to see where the jet had gone, but he had moved on to circle around again.

There was a screaming that was unlike the rest. It immediately pulled my gaze toward the fight taking place with the tank—Brawl, I think Jazz had called him.

"We need crowd control, men!" the man in charge of the soldiers shouted.

"I got it!" I called back as loud as I could. He seemed to hear me but not notice—or care—who had said it and returned to the fight at hand. I could see what he meant, though: people were running everywhere in any direction they saw fit.

Some of Starscream's fire had trapped someone in rubble. I decided that was as good a place as any to start. Others were working to pull the hunk of cement up, and I joined them. I wasn't particularly strong, but another set of hands would help. With some heaving and the addition of two more people, we lifted the chunk high enough for the man to crawl to freedom.

We dropped the debris and I danced away before it could land on my toes. Someone fell nearby and I ran to help them up. They offered sparse gratitude before sprinting away from danger, but I hardly cared. I spun around where I stood, trying to see if anyone else needed help.

"Head this way! Stay out of the shooting, get as far as you can," I shouted, waving and signaling in any way I could, scanning the crowd.

A woman in a blue dress was on the ground less than a block away. She was screaming and showed no signs of stopping. The tank was beyond, under heavy fire from Autobot and military alike. Jazz wouldn't be very happy, but I ran to her side anyway, still trying to herd people in a safe direction. She ceased her screaming as I kneeled by her side, my hands on her shoulders.

"Get up!" I said, trying to pull her up myself.

"My leg. . . ," she whimpered.

I groaned and draped her arm over my shoulders and brought her to her feet. Her leg didn't look broken, but she was heavy and limping. I hobbled with her further down the block, then recruited a man who was scrambling out of a building to take her with him.

To my delight, he didn't make a fuss and carried her down the street in the direction I pointed.

There was a loud crash and Jazz' voice cut through the din.

"It's Megatron! Fall back!"

Whirling around, the color drained from my face. The mech marching onto the field from between two buildings was the largest thing I had seen. He was maybe larger than Optimus by a foot or two, and looked as if he was composed of nothing but knives and deadly weapons. He was all sharp angles, all sharp edges, and all alien.

There was nothing Earth about him. With the Autobots I could clearly make out their car parts. Even with what I'd seen of the Decepticons it was the same. But Megatron—he was all Cybertronian.

He wouldn't have been able to pick local camouflage, not when he'd been in stasis.

"Kat!" Jazz shouted suddenly, drawing my bewildered gaze to him. He'd spotted me standing there at the end of the block. "What're you doing?"

"I—"

"Fall back! Get to safety!"

Though I told myself that Jazz deserved my undying obedience and trust, I found myself hesitating. I was a deer in headlights; my eyes turned back to Megatron as he advanced. Ratchet herded a group of civilians away, and the military shouted behind me.

"Kathryn!"

It was almost enough to jolt me back to my senses. At the same time, though, Megatron noticed the opening and fired a missile that blew over some cars and sent Jazz sprawling. The explosion was powerful and blasted me down as well, and I braced my fall with my hands. A pang went all the way up my wrist to my shoulder and I collapsed, mouth open in a pained gasp.

The pain was forgotten as my mind registered what had happened.

"Jazz," I whispered, rolling over.

Gunfire split my hearing and I ducked down, hands over my head. Seconds later, after I realized I was okay, I scrambled to my feet and turned to watch the fight. My ears were ringing and I felt like my skull might shatter, but I needed to know if Jazz was okay.

He was no longer where I'd left him on the ground. Panic like a python constricted around my chest. My eyes darted this way and that, searching for the gleam of his silver paint job; my ears strained for the sound of him taunting and insulting his enemy. Any sign that he was around, that he was okay—where was Megatron?

I shouldn't be able to miss him. The Decepticon was huge.

Then I spotted him, chasing Jazz a ways down the block. I sprinted that way, though I wasn't sure what I was going to do, what I could do. All I knew was that every fiber in my being was screaming for me to go to him.

Crowd control was forgotten. They'd have to control themselves. Jazz was in trouble.

"Ironhide! Ratchet! Someone!" I shrieked, looking around for the other Autobots. None were paying attention, too busy with their own problems.

Beyond, Brawl was catching his second wind and Ironhide engaged. He was the only Autobot I could see without looking too far—not when I needed to keep my eyes on Jazz and Megatron so I didn't lose them as I ran.

Optimus was still nowhere to be seen, fighting with Bonecrusher on the freeway. Or maybe even dead. I had no way of knowing.

Snarling, Megatron lunged at Jazz, who danced nimbly out of the way. Fresh traffic had driven onto the scene and new screams assaulted my ears. Though Megatron stormed and stomped over civilians and vehicles alike, Jazz did his best to avoid them.

His footwork suffered, and his enemy pounced on the opportunity.

Megatron roared a Cybertronian taunt and snatched Jazz off the ground, then took off with him.

"Jazz!" I tried to call, but I tripped on a piece of rubble and my voice died in my throat as I attempted to catch myself. I stumbled, but didn't fall.

Somehow I had to follow, somehow I had to keep up. I wasn't going to lose Jazz, not after everything we'd been through. Not after everything else in my life was gone. I didn't know how, but I would figure it out.

And I did, seconds later.

A black truck caught my attention not several yards away. At first I thought it was Ironhide, but though it was large, a closer look made me realize it was a Hummer and not a Topkick. A man was standing by the open door, gawking at the scene before him.

Fast as I could, I darted past him, slammed the door shut, and locked it behind me. The guy jumped and whirled around seconds too late.

"What the hell, lady?" he demanded, beating on his window.

"Sorry I just need to borrow it!" I shouted through the glass. He continued to insult me and pound on the window, but I ignored him. I took a deep breath, then buckled my seatbelt.

"Get the fuck out my car, bitch!"

Inside my chest, my heart hammered away. Frayed nerves interfered with my fine motor skills, and I fumbled with the gear shift. Somehow, I managed to shift into drive. Ignoring the owner of the Hummer, I pulled forward and sped toward the direction I'd seen Megatron go. The man chased me, but had no chance to catch me.

Following Megatron would be easy. He was a giant flying alien robot, so it was a simple matter to spot him. On top of that, he had no qualms about slamming into buildings.

All I had to do was follow the destruction.

Corners came up quick and I pushed the Hummer as fast as she could go without risking life and limb. She had a fat ass and couldn't make the hair-pin turns, but I did all I could. Megatron refused to move in a straight line.

An explosion rocked the air nearby and pieces of a building rained down over me. I squealed and the car swerved as the roof was pelted with rubble, but I kept her on the road. She fishtailed as I cranked the wheel to make a sharp left, slamming the back bumper into a sedan parked on the side of the road.

"Sorry," I groaned through clenched teeth, trying to straighten the SUV up.

Eventually I found traction and shot off. I leaned as far forward as I could, peering through the windshield to follow Megatron. I weaved in and out between cars, jumping up on the sidewalk when the streets were too congested.

"Move!" I shouted at pedestrians, blaring my horn.

With a four-ton SUV coming at them, they got out of the way. It didn't stop me from swerving when needed or slamming on the breaks.

Starscream droned overhead, unleashing another devastating hail of bullets, nearly hitting my truck. I veered out of surprise and ran over a large piece of broken asphalt. I thought I'd flip, but the thing I was driving was a beast. I maneuvered back on course, bouncing and shuddering.

They doubled back and dipped below the buildings. Tears misted in my eyes, but I brushed them away. Jazz was stuck with Megatron, getting slammed around and battered.

I had to make it.

There was a plan formulating in my head, but I wasn't sure if I could pull it off. I had to try. I was in a giant-ass SUV, it should be able to take some damage. The airbags would keep me safe, that's what they're there for. Jazz needed me.

He'd been there when I needed him—it was my turn to be there for him.

Another sharp turn came up. I cut the wheel but didn't quite make it around and broad-sided a dumpster. I jerked to a stop and jarred my shoulder, then forced the car onward.

On the other side of the street, I spotted my quarry and swung toward the two bots.

Jazz hit the ground first, tossed down from the building above me a block and a half away. I slammed on the breaks to watch, scanning for the Decepticon leader before my eyes fell back to my prone guardian.

"C'mon, c'mon get up," I muttered, wringing the steering wheel. The leather creaked.

A giant mass of metal and rage fell from the sky, jerking me out of my thoughts. He landed atop Jazz and my stomach churned as if it was me he was standing on.

Jazz, my Jazz.

My knuckles were white on the wheel. My mouth ran dry and I was certain my heart was going had flat lined long ago.

I hadn't been spotted. I pried one hand off the steering wheel and squeezed the gearshift.

Megatron pulled Jazz out from under him. The Autobot was sparking, his left arm dangling uneven. My teeth ground together. Fear and worry blurred my vision. Jazz continued to shoot and Megatron flinched each time, but was otherwise unbothered.

They weren't going to take Jazz—not after taking everything else.

Resolve crackled like electricity in my brain. I pushed the fear away, buried it under determination. They weren't far away. My foot slammed the gas pedal to the floor and the tires squealed in protest. The Hummer took a second to pick up, then I was off.

The last thing I wanted to do was risk a head-on collision. Any sort of collision was going to hurt, but I wanted to come out of this alive.

Just like doing cookies back in Park City, I thought to myself.

Bumblebee had made it look easy, back in Tranquility. All I had to do was sweep his legs.

It wasn't but a few heartbeats before I was upon them. At the last second, I threw the Hummer into first gear and cranked the wheel hard to the right—

—I'd misjudged everything.

How close I was, how sharp she could spin, and how hard I was going to hit the Decepticon. I'd failed to remember that I'd been in the snow the last time I'd attempted a 360 spin like that. That it had been years ago. . .in a smaller car.

One moment I was pulling hard on the wheel, then the next moment all I could hear was the crunch of metal and I was thrust face-first into the airbag.

White filled my world and my breath was stolen. The seatbelt tightened against my chest and I fell back against the seat, vision swimming. Though the car might not have been moving anymore, it felt like I was. My head reeled and I was afraid I wouldn't be able to sit up straight much longer. No matter how hard I coughed and gasped, I was being smothered.

Someone outside was roaring, but I could barely hear over the ringing in my ears.

The Hummer rocked and was suddenly spinning. I braced in my chair, but it only lasted a few seconds. When I turned to look out the window, all I could see was the deep gray of metal armor, sharp and dangerous. Megatron was flailing, trying to stand. Jazz wasn't within my immediate field of view.

Everything I'd planned had gone so wrong, so why had it still worked?

For the time being I didn't move. I still couldn't catch my breath—I'd inhaled some of the powder used to aid the airbag's deployment—and I continued to hack away breathlessly. The truck slid to the side again, making me squeal.

As Megatron stood, he caught sight of me inside and his glowing, sinister red optics narrowed. His faceplates contorted into rage and my face paled.

"Insolent fleshling," he thundered, leveling a cannon toward me.

Whimpering, I lifted my hands to protect my head out of instinct. Fat lot of good it would do against cannon fire.

The blast never came, instead interrupted by a familiar voice.

"Megatron!" Optimus declared. Megatron was suddenly shunted to the side before firing.

"Prime!" roared Megatron. His vengeance forgotten, he took to the air and transformed mid-flight into a bulky Cybertronian jet. He sailed over me and I ducked down.

I turned my head to see Optimus grab hold, and then they zipped out of sight.

A calm fell over the area for a second and I sat in my seat, tears leaving a wet trail down my cheeks. My gasps turned into raspy heaves.

Everything hurt—my face, my neck, my chest. I was faintly aware of the deflated airbag hanging limp in front of the steering wheel. The only thing filling my thoughts was me, staring down the barrel of a Decepticon's cannon.

Numb shock dulled everything. My sight narrowed into a pinhole and I stared at the wheel for I didn't know how long.

It seemed like mere seconds later that sounds outside brought me back to myself. I jumped, startled by the fact that I was in a broken car. For a moment, I'd forgotten. I glanced up and gasped—an action that started another coughing fit.

Part of the roof was dented and caved in. If I'd had a passenger, they would have been hurt bad. I glanced behind me; also mangled. Megatron also had a fat ass, it seemed.

Slowly, I unbuckled my belt and looked around outside for Jazz. Futile. The windshield was covered in cracks; I couldn't see anything through it but colors and broken shapes. Something large was coming toward me, though, and my adrenaline spiked again. Another whimper left me and I tried to open the door, but it was jammed. The passenger side had received the brunt of the impact, but when Megatron fell or kicked me, it did the job.

My moment of panic was unwarranted. Jazz was outside, and he ripped the door clean off.

"Kat?" he gasped, sounding flabbergasted. But why? Hadn't he known I was in here?

Squinting, I peered around and lifted my hand to block the sun, angled into my eyes. I wheezed and gasped before finding words. "You're alive?"

The dose of adrenaline from earlier cleared my head and returned me completely to Earth. I started to climb out of the car, desperate to look at Jazz, to see him in his entirety. My hands reached out, fingers groping.

He reached back and pulled me from the crashed car, cradling me before backing into a tight alleyway and sitting down.

"What's the damage?" I muttered between panting.

Jazz scoffed and glared at me. "Bruise on your chest from the belt, friction burns on your face and neck, possible whiplash, and issues that likely won't appear until tomorrow or the day after!"

I grimaced. He was using proper English now. Great, I'd really fucked up.

"I mean. . .your arm," I breathed, indicating with a weak gesture.

"Who cares! Kat what the hell were you thinking?" he demanded.

When I couldn't meet his gaze, I instead stared at the Pontiac symbol on his chest. I filled my lungs with enough air to speak. "I was thinking, you were going to die if I didn't do something."

He narrowed his eyes at me, expression stern. "Kathryn. . . ."

"No, Jazz," I interrupted, shaking my head and finally looking him in the optics. "I was scared! You were being dragged god knew where by Megatron, everyone was busy, and you were all alone! I couldn't just let you—I didn't want to—I wouldn't know what I'd do if you—"

My mini-rant sent me into a coughing fit and Jazz set me down, optics blazing with concern. "Calm down, little miss. . . . Your airways're obstructed. Take deep breaths."

Nodding, I tried to do so through my hacking.

Sighing, he waited for me to calm down so he could yell at me more. Probably.

When I'd stopped hyperventilating, he sighed and rubbed his faceplates. "Kathryn, I told you to stay with the military."

"I know, but—"

"But nothing! You coulda got real hurt, or killed!" he berated. I wanted my old Jazz back, the one that wasn't mad at me for doing stupid things and spoke in slang.

Mostly the Jazz that wasn't mad at me.

"I just wanted to help. I didn't want you to die!" I snapped, frowning. I stared at his chest and sulked. Why didn't he understand? "You're all I have left now!"

The building rocked and Jazz crouched protectively over me as chunks of it rained over us. He looked over his shoulder. A military helicopter whirled by, firing into the distance. I didn't know what was friend or foe anymore.

When the coast cleared, Jazz straightened and vented air in frustration. "What do you mean? You have your whole life ahead of ya."

My defenses came down a little; his voice was softer.

Blushing, I shook my head and patted my messy hair. "My parents are dead, I have to sell my childhood home and move and then you. . .you. . . ." I wheezed and clutched my chest. The fresh air was helping a little bit. "Nothing."

He stared at me for a moment, then set his good hand against my side. "I don' want nothing bad t'happen t'ya either, little miss. Tha's why you can't do dumb shit like that."

I glanced down and sighed, and he sat back to assess his damage.

It had been stupid, I couldn't deny that. But it had been worth it to know Jazz was okay.


	17. Gonna Fight

"You need to see Ratchet," I muttered, trying to move the topic off me.

He shook his head and fiddled with his dislocated arm. "Naw, I can do minor repairs. Ratchet an' Ironhide're busy." It stopped sparking, but he had to do some finagling to push it back into the socket so it'd work properly. I offered to help, but he politely refused.

Crossing my arms, I walked to the end of the alleyway and peered around the corner, watching for danger. "Busy doing what?"

He didn't have to answer; one came seconds later.

"DECEPTICONS ATTACK!" Megatron's booming voice echoed over the city. I hadn't noticed during Jazz' lecture that they'd ceased fire.

I flinched and ducked away, then poked my head back out. "What's going on?"

"They weren't expectin' humans t'pack a punch. Had t'regroup. Y'all're chock full of surprises."

An explosion nearby startled me and I turned toward the noise. The familiar form of Ironhide and Ratchet were sprinting past.

"Jazz, Jazz there they go!" I called, pointing.

My guardian joined me at the entrance, flexing his fingers and testing his joints. "They're escorting Sam to a building. Can you stay safe while I get back in there? Brawl and Blackout're hounding down on them."

"No," I mumbled cheekily.

"Kat, don't get into anymore trouble!"

"Fine."

Venting angrily, he transformed and rolled off to put his life in more danger. And _I_ was the crazy one for slamming a car into Megatron. I still didn't know how it had all worked out: I hadn't seen anything after the airbags had deployed.

Whatever. I wouldn't question it. Maybe later I'd ask Jazz.

Naturally my ire was misplaced; Jazz was a soldier and I was a civilian who had stolen and wrecked an SUV. He had more right to be upset than I did.

Didn't make me any happier.

Frustrated tears burned in the back of my eyes and I kicked a rock on the ground. Sam got to help, Mikaela had been doing something with a tow truck for Bumblebee, but when I tried to help, Jazz got all irritated and wanted me to stand around and look pretty.

I knew he had my best interests at heart, but I felt a rebellion rise in me. I wasn't going to stand around and wait. No way was I going to sit quietly.

There had to be something I could bring to the table.

Taking a deep breath—that made me cough—I ignored the throbbing in my chest and jogged in the direction I'd seen the two Autobots take off. Maybe Sam would like some company while he ran for his life. It was a start. Maybe something else would present itself.

And all I wanted was to prove to Jazz that I could handle myself.

Prove that I didn't need to be babysat.

Maybe he would have gotten out of the situation with Megatron fine and I didn't necessarily save his life, but I liked to think I helped. He could have at _least_ said "I appreciate it but don't ever do it again." Something, anything.

Tenacity and frustration fueled me onward, but it was quickly replaced when I came around the corner and realized there was a giant Decepticon at the end of the block firing at the Autobots.

That I had just in behind.

_Don't get into any trouble, he said. As if that's possible!_

Gasping, I tossed myself behind a smart car and threw my hands over my head. The vehicle rocked with a couple explosions, but no damage befell me. After a few moments, the Decepticon transformed into a helicopter and took off, unable to handle return fire from the Autobots. I took a couple fitful breaths, then was back on the road after Sam.

"Hey!" I shouted at the top of my lungs, waving. If I ever had to run again, it would be too soon. My steps faltered when I was racked with coughs, but I fought through them and kept going.

 _Tomorrow is going to suck_.

Ratchet heard me and stopped, optics wide. "Kathryn what are you—move!"

Something else had caught his attention. I stopped running as he took aim at something behind me, but before I could move out of the way, Starscream swooped in and slid to a stop on the street. His rough landing shoved cars out of his path; he unleashing a barrage of gunfire as he came to a halt.

I stumbled backwards and heard the familiar snarl of a vehicle grow closer. Ironhide and Ratchet fielded the brunt of Starscream's assault and I looked back to see if I needed to dodge a car.

A police cruiser careened toward me, lights blazing. The roar of its engine turned into a Cybertronian cry and I bolted like a startled rabbit toward the sidewalk, where I hoped Barricade couldn't follow me. However, he ignored cars and streetlights alike, intent on running me down.

If I could just reach Ratchet and Ironhide. . . .

_Should've listened to Jazz._

The two Autobots faltered and fell, injured by Starscream. Barricade bore down on top of me. I cried out for help, and then just as his bumper was about to slam into me, the front of the car opened and I was swallowed up, splayed across the front seats seconds later. The gear shift dug into my side, driving more wind from my lungs, and my knee slammed into the steering wheel as he jerked around.

At first panic threatened to overwhelm me. I was in the hands of the enemy, being taken who knew where. Ratchet and Ironhide were hurt, and I didn't know where Jazz was. How was I going to escape? Who was going to come for me. . . .

My hands balled into fists and I pulled myself upright into the passenger's seat. Teeth bared and breaths coming in like a broken squeaker toy, I realized I was on my own.

But it didn't matter.

I could do it. I could help myself. Now was the perfect time to prove to Jazz that I could handle myself, that I wasn't a damsel who needed constant protection. Barricade wasn't a Decepticon right now, he was just a vehicle with a mind.

_I can do this._

"Let me out!" I demanded, twisting so I was in a better position. He hadn't even restrained me. Cocky son of a bitch.

Of course he did no such thing as let me out. It wasn't my first time being abducted by a car, though, and I started the kicking. Jazz had complained that it hurt, so it stood to reason this asshole would feel it, too. Barricade was a cop car, so there was all the stupid gadgets and computers and radars pinned to the dash, so I aimed for those.

Barricade shuddered and roared as I dislodged the laptop from its mount. I didn't stop there, though. With my hands I yanked and pulled until a scanner popped free.

He jabbered angrily in his foreign tongue before remembering that I spoke English. _"Puny human! Knock off your flailing!"_ he demanded as the seatbelts wrapped around me at last. The computer on his dash sparked and fizzled.

"No!" I snarled, still kicking despite the restraints. The belt tightened until I couldn't kick anymore and I had to figure out something else to do.

Without the freedom to move, there was only one thing I _could_ do.

After taking the deepest breath my lungs would allow, I screamed as loud as I could with as much pitch as I was able to muster. Barricade shuddered and swerved, nearly ramming into a building before he caught himself and veered away.

 _"I will crush you!"_ he threatened.

Still I screeched, channeling my inner banshee.

All of a sudden, the seat snapped forward and I kissed the steering wheel. My vision went black for a moment and my cry cut off. For several seconds I couldn't think straight and my thoughts jumbled together into a mess of confusion and fear and pain. Something warm trickled down my forehead and my mouth tasted of copper; I'd bitten my tongue.

I was faintly aware that Barricade said something. I couldn't help but assume it was something bitter and snarky by the tone of his voice, but the words wouldn't process.

Pain throbbed against my forehead and behind my eyes. He could have very easily smashed my skull in if he'd wanted to, but hadn't used enough force to do much but shut me up and sedate me. It was worse than any cheerleading accident I'd been in.

Blurry visions spread before me as my sight returned. The sound of Barricade's transformation should have alarmed me, but I couldn't remember why. My impromptu restrains disappeared.

Then, I was sent flying.

That, too, should have made me worry.

After a moment of wind-milling my arms to coordinate myself, I was snatched from the air by a pair of huge talons. My ears were filled the sound of a jet, already ringing from the head injury. I clutched the metal fingers and curled to combat the g-force, and then Starscream landed atop a building and we stopped moving.

However, my stomach still felt like it was moving. It churned and flipped, nausea threatening to overwhelm me. Somehow I managed to keep the contents of my stomach inside.

"So you're the first lieutenant's pet, this Walker child Barricade tells me about."

Finally my wits were returning, helped along by adrenaline. I lifted my head to look up at Starscream as he glared down at me. He cocked his head to the side and said, "That name is familiar."

His optics twitched like a person dreaming and then narrowed, a cruel look twisting his faceplates. He lifted me higher and snickered. "Ah, here's the memory. That fleshling all those cycles ago. . . . Walker. They thought they'd find an ally with you!"

Groaning, I smeared blood off my face with my hand. "Wuh—waddya want?"

"If you want to catch a rat, you have to put out some bait." He lifted me higher again, examining me from all angles. "Maybe after we claim your planet I'll keep a pet, too!"

Pet? That wasn't right. "Ahm—not a pet. . . ."

"Ah—here he comes now."

_Here who comes?_

I looked around and saw nothing but the sky and tops of buildings around me.

Soon after, a voice cut through the fog and my heart soared. "Starscream! C'mere and fight, ya coward!" Jazz demanded.

Starscream sneered and leaped down from the building, slamming to the ground below. He held me up and I warbled out a protest, the sharp movement threatening to make me hurl. I pushed myself up, squinting against the splitting headache, which the sun did not help.

"You looking for this thing?" Starscream baited.

Thing? Was he talking about me? I wasn't a thing. Or a pet.

"Hand over the cube and I'll think about giving it back."

Jazz didn't mince words. He fired a shot that hit Starscream straight in the chest. My captor howled and leaped back in surprise, then returned fire. Jazz dodged neatly and pelted Starscream with more quick shots. Starscream's talons tightened around me and I grunted.

The two conversed in Cybertronian and I tried to keep my head on straight. However, the shooting stopped.

"Kat, hang on!"

Somehow I managed to raise my hand. I was still having issues seeing straight and my equilibrium was fucked up, but I waved at Jazz all the same. "Juss help the soldiers." I'd meant to say it louder, but chances were he didn't hear me.

"Yes, hang on, worm," said Starscream before he took off into the air. "Catch me if you can!"

I blinked away the bleary vision and squinted behind me as Jazz Spidermaned his way up the building. Fear should have been my main priority, maybe worry for Jazz. Probably shame because I'd wound up putting myself in this situation, but instead I was irritated. Irritated that I was in pain, irritated that Starscream was a giant asshole, and irritated that this was all my fault.

More and more senses were returning to me and I picked myself up, bracing on Starscream's hand. We were on top of a building, waiting for some sort of rooftop showdown that Starscream was orchestrating. I stared at the machinations of his digits and narrowed my eyes.

_Yeah, yeah I can do this._

Save myself, and let Jazz pummel Starscream without worrying about me.

They were still arguing about my release, but I didn't pay attention. Jazz was speaking English for my benefit, but I was busy. Starscream sounded more and more smug as the conversation went on, Jazz less and less patient. He made it to the roof and I started digging.

"Kat I'm gonna get ya, don' worry."

_Mm, okay._

My small hands fit into the crevices of Starscream's talons, but I had to push them past wires and couldn't open my fingers very wide.

"Starscream!" That didn't sound like Jazz.

I looked up from my work in time to see Megatron come out of the woodwork and grabbed my guardian again. He picked him up with ease and slammed him into the building across the street before turning to Starscream.

For a moment I struggled with what I saw. Jazz—Jazz was hurt again.

"Lord Megatron!" Starscream sniveled.

"Quit playing with your food and help me with the AllSpark!"

Jazz was hurt again.

Grunting, I reached back into Starscream's talons and used all my strength to yank out a bunch of important-looking sparkplugs. I withdrew my hands as sparks started to fly and he momentarily lost control of his fine motor skills. He dropped me with a surprised sound and I hit the rooftop on my shoulder, rolling with the impact.

My shoulder erupted into a vat of blazing pain and I grit my teeth. I was free, but I wasn't out of the fire. An angry Starscream loomed over me and stomped his foot down. I had enough wherewithal to move out of the way, and he wound up for another crushing step.

"Move, you fool!" Megatron ordered, all but dragging Starscream off to follow Sam and the Cube. Starscream snarled, but did as he was commanded and jetted off.

Panting and groaning, I pushed myself up and cradled my arm against my chest. I had to get to Jazz. Starscream's wires were still in my hand and I dropped them as if they were on fire, kicking them away before shuffling toward the edge of the roof.

How to get down?

The door to the inside was locked. I kicked it to see if it would open, but only wound up hurting my toe on top of all my other injuries. Whimpering, I tried to limp to the side of the building where Jazz had been standing moments prior. However, I stumbled in the wrong direction several times until I forced myself to stop and _think_ about where I wanted to go.

Then I had to make my legs carry me in that direction. It took much more concentration than it should have, but I managed it after a few attempts.

Across the street, people swarmed from the buildings like ants fleeing from their flooded hill. Two floors up from the ground was a Jazz-sized hole. For several seconds I stood, watching and waiting for movement from inside. When I saw none, I feared the worst.

"Jazz," I muttered, scurrying from one side of the building to the next to find some way down. In the end I decided to scale the building.

First, I tested my coordination, and only when I was confident did I start looking for a path.

I picked the best spot and lowered myself onto an air-conditioning unit, testing it with my weight. When it held, I gave it my entire mass and held tight to the lip of a window. The unit creaked precariously and I moved to a different window sill.

Not once did the thought occur to me to try and open a window. Not once did I think about what I was doing. I just needed to get down from the roof.

The building was maybe four or five stories tall. The splitting headache interfered with my reasonable thinking and I continued the dangerous descent, shimmying from one window to the next. I moved slowly, careful to watch my footing. Falling was not something I wanted to do. There was barely enough room for my toes and fingers to find purchase, so I had to be extra cautious anyway.

A voice cut through my concentration.

"Miss, what the hell are you doing?"

My grip faltered and I nearly tumbled the rest of the way down the building despite all my efforts. I held fast and pulled my feet back up to the foothold I'd been perched on, releasing a shaky breath. I looked around for the voice and found a head poking out from a window up and to my left.

"Um. . . ." As if there was a good enough excuse for me to be climbing down the wall.

"Get over here!"

With great care, I did as I was told and clambered up and over to the dude in the window. He pulled me inside and I collapsed on the ground, shuddering and red-faced. He shook his head at me and demanded once more to know what I'd been doing.

I pointed upward. "I was stuck on the roof and wanted down."

He seemed to notice the dried blood on my forehead and appraised me with a growing horrified expression. "Jesus, are you okay?"

Standing, I straightened my clothes. "No. How do I get out of this building?"

"You can't leave! There's a war going on out there!"

Jazz might have gotten up by now. He wouldn't know that I wasn't with Starscream anymore. I ignored the unhelpful man and went to the door I saw. I was in some sort of office with several work stations. There was no one else inside, and I wasn't sure why he was in there alone.

Maybe hiding. Who knew.

"You're going to go out there?" he said, grabbing my arm.

"I gotta find someone," I said, my voice flat and almost dream-like. When I pulled from his grip, he didn't chase me and just pointed me toward the exit.

The elevator's weren't working so I hurried down the stairs—nearnly falling flat on my face several times—and out through the front door. The quakes and explosions had littered the inside of the building with cracks and chunks of drywall, and I hoped the man came to his senses and left before his office ended up collapsing. I wasn't going to spend any time trying to convince him.

Once outside, I had to find the building Jazz had been thrown through. Luckily, all I had to do was following the stream of people. They were still pouring out of it, trying to escape the giant robot that had destroyed part of the structior. It took a bit of doing, but I ran upstream until I was inside.

After grabbing the nearest person as they passed, I asked maybe the silliest question. "Do you know where the robot is? Is it still inside?"

The woman stared at me, bewildered.

"Did you see it!" I demanded, shaking her. It only made myself dizzy.

"No!" she gasped, trying to pull free. "Something—something crashed through on the second floor and we had to evacuate!"

Clicking my tongue in disapproval, I let her go. She ran outside and I jogged through the waiting room, dodging askew tables and trampling on magazines. I fought my way up the stairs to the floor she'd indicated. Each step sent more throbs of pain through my head and staggered me, but I soldiered onward. I passed several rooms with names on the doors, and I thought maybe I was in a legal building with various offices for lawyers to meet with clients. Maybe therapists, I wasn't sure.

Once on the second floor I stopped and looked down the hallway, trying to figure out where I was going. Shouting caught my attention and I followed it.

A breeze brushed across my skin. Part of the building had collapsed with Jazz's forceful entry. The shouts were coming from the other side of the buckled wall. Instead of taking the time to find a way around, I started pulling at chunks of drywall and foundation. When the skin on my fingers were torn numb and nails chipped, I finally made a hole big enough to shimmy through.

Jazz was deep in the building, sprawled out atop several desks. Computers sparked around him, and broken electrical signals made his arm and leg twitch.

People surrounded him, poking and prodding. A couple had pieces of rebar in their hands, raised as weapons against my unconscious guardian. They shouted at each other, questioned what he was and what was going on. They took pictures with their phones. My sore hands balled into fists and I ground my teeth together— _the nerve._

"Stop it!" I shouted, running into the thick of them. I shoved them aside and pulled one man from his attempt to climb on top of Jazz.

"Hey!"

I ignored his protest and slapped the palm of my hands on Jazz' chest. "Wake up! Jazz you gotta get up! Hey, stop touching that!"

The young suit withdrew his hand from Jazz' weapon and backed up.

"Get away from that thing, girl. It could be dangerous," someone beckoned.

His optics were dim, but flickering. I chose to take his warm chest as a good sign. Someone tugged on my arm and another shouted another warning. Brushing off the person trying to pull me down I said, "He's a good guy, leave him alone! He's hurt, bad."

"How do you know?" a man demanded.

Waving my hand over Jazz' body. "Can't you see? He's sparking and not awake!"

"No!" the same guy scoffed. "How do you know its friendly?"

My patience wasn't as bottomless as Jazz' was. "I just know. Is anyone a mechanic? Please, I need him to wake up!"

"Are you crazy?"

"Who is this woman?"

"My dad had a garage, but this isn't a car!"

Groaning, I scaled Jazz' chest and put my hands on either side of his face, patting like I would an unconscious human. "C'mon, wake up! You're alright, just a little banged up. You've probably seen worse, haven't you? Jazz, get up."

Someone put a hand on my shoulder and I turned to see one of the suits without his jacket on, crawling up with me. He pulled me down and though at first I didn't let him, his soft expression convinced me. He said, "I'm sure a few of us can help somehow, but are you absolutely certain this thing is friendly?"

I nodded and set my jaw. "I'm positive!"

"How can you tell?"

"See that symbol on his forehead?" I huffed.

He nodded.

"That's the good guy symbol."

Suddenly, the building shuddered. Dust rained from the ceiling and I leaned against Jazz to stay on my feet. Explosions popped in the distance, maybe three or four blocks away. Jazz twitched and I looked up hopefully, but he was still out.

The man took a deep breath, then nodded and turned to the others. "Alright you heard the lady, let's get the giant robot on its feet."

"That's crazy! It could kill us!"

"What makes her so sure?"

"We should get out of here, it's a warzone out there!"

He lifted a hand for silence and shook his head. "I'm not saying you all have to help, just whoever _wants_ to. The rest of you should finish evacuating. Scott, I know you're worried about your kids so get out of here. What about any of you? Who wants to help?"

They mumbled amongst themselves for a moment and I looked away, taking one of Jazz' fingers in my hands. Even if none of them wanted to help, I'd find a way to do it on my own.

When the group had finished their conversation, I was faced with three people, myself, and the guy who had taken charge. Everyone else had fled. The man from before approached and rolled up his sleeves. "I'm gonna be real mad if he attacks when he wakes up."

"He won't," I insisted.

"Alright, well, my name's Kevin. Yours?"

"Kathryn."

Nodding, he waved the group over. One was another woman, maybe older than me. She tied her jacket around her waist and they examined Jazz. They introduced themselves as Sarah, Orlando, and the last one was Jamison.

"Why does some of this thing look like a Pontiac and the rest like. . .like nothing?" Jamison asked, looking over the cracked headlights.

"They can take the form of any machine, but they're not from this planet," I explained.

"You mean these things could be _anything_?" Sarah clarified.

All I could do was nod.

"Woah wait they're aliens? This thing is an alien?" Orlando marveled, taking a wary step back.

Most of them seemed fascinated now that they had been told Jazz wasn't dangerous, but this wasn't a classroom. I tapped Kevin on the shoulder and said, "How are we going to wake him?"

"Gotta find out why he's off in the first place. We're not mechanics by any means, but Jamison worked at his dad's garage for a while and I know a few basics," he said, hands on his hips. "I don't know how we're supposed to fix an alien machine, though."

"Can we get him off these tables and on the floor?" Jamison asked.

Sarah scoffed. "An how do you propose we do that? He probably weighs ten tons!"

"How do we know he's not dead?"

"He's not dead!" I snarled.

Orlando lifted his hands in defeat and went back to searching the most critical parts of Jazz' side, pulling back when threatened with a shock.

"I can connect some of these, but he's leaking some weird fluid," Jamison observed.

"D-don't touch that stuff," I warbled, my hand on my head. A dizziness kicked up when I spun toward him and I stumbled where I stood. "It—it might burn you."

Kevin grabbed me by the arm and led me to a chair. I sat with little protest. "Woah, you got a nasty goose egg on your head there. Take it easy. Is there anything you can tell us about these things that might help us fix him?"

I pressed my hand against my forehead and took deep breaths with my eyes closed. "No, no I don't know much. Just that he's a living machine."

Pushing Kevin aside, Sarah pulled up a chair next to me with a dusty first aid kit in her lap. "Go fix the alien, I'll help her," she said. Kevin nodded and joined the other two at Jazz. I thanked Sarah and she cleaned the cut above my eye. Whatever was on that wipe stung and I tensed in my chair, but tried to hold still. Once done, Sarah stuck a band-aid over the wound and took a breath.

"Sorry the kit isn't very extensive. I put some Neosporin on it, though, and it's clean," she said, offering me a reassuring smile.

"It's fine, thank you," I whispered, leaning back. "Do you know much about cars?

She chuckled and shook her head. I hoped I didn't come across as accusatory. "No, but I could build you a custom desktop computer. I figure I can help with some trouble shooting."

"Well, thank you," I said sincerely, meeting her eyes.

"Sure. If he's one of the good guys, we have to help. Sit tight, I'll be back."

Sarah left my side and came back moments later with a paper cone cup filled with water. I sipped it greedily and she brought me a couple more refills before I was satisfied. She left me with one final cup before taking up a position next to Jamison.

"This is really hard without tools," Jamison griped across the room. He was elbow-deep in Jazz' shoulder socket, his suit jacket on backwards to protect his torso from stray Energon splashes.

Orlando was at Jazz' side, one hand propping up his armor and the other inside. Kevin had just returned, screwdrivers and needle-nose pliers, and a wrench in hand. "These were the only tools I could find, who wants what?"

"Give me those pliers," Sarah requested. "There's something stuck in here and I can't grab it."

"I think a lot of this is trying to repair itself," Orlando guessed, backing away from Jazz' bad arm. Meanwhile, Kevin handed Sarah the tool. "It's already stopped. . .uh. . . _bleeding_."

Though I should be sitting, I stood and walked over to Orlando. Jazz had some severe damage to his side that he was examining. There couldn't be anything done about the armor, but he'd reconnected a few wires and was standing by, watching.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

Before he could answer, something inside Jazz buzzed. Sarah had stumbled back, finally managing to pull free what she'd found: a broken piece of rebar maybe three inches long. We all fell silent, the four of them backing up. I stepped toward my Autobot friend, hands raised and chest swelling relief. Then, his joints groaned and his optics flickered to life. He rolled over and the others stumbled back with various cries of surprise. Even I moved back, afraid of accidentally being kicked.

"Starscream!" Jazz snarled, whirling into a crouched position. His battle mask dropped and he aimed his gun around the room.

"I knew it! I fucking knew it!" Jamison screamed, scrambling to the back of the room.

I jumped in front of them and held my hands up, unable to keep the relieved grin from my face. "Jazz! Jazz it's okay! Jazz, Starscream's gone and I'm right here."

He scanned down and put his weapon away, then flicked off his mask and visor. "Kat?"

"Yes! Yes I'm here, I'm okay, you're okay! Everything's fine," I cooed, reaching up toward him. He extended his hand and I ran mine against his fingers. "I got away, everything's okay."

"How?" he asked.

"It's. . .it's a little fuzzy. I think I pulled out some wires in his hand and he dropped me."

Someone behind me cleared their throat and I glanced back. "Oh, right. Um, these nice people were helping get you back online."

Jazz chuckled and nodded to them. "Ye'h? Thanks fer that."

They murmured their sentiments, though Jamison was still in the back, terrified. He seemed to find some confidence and inched closer.

Kevin said, "I'm not sure how much good we did."

Sarah held up the rebar. "All we had to do was pull this thing out of your chest."

"Musta been interruptin' a relay or somethin'," Jazz muttered, rubbing the spot she'd pulled the rebar from. "Your efforts are appreciated."

"You still need to see Ratchet," I pouted.

"An' I will. But these guys need t'get outta here an' t'safety. An' I need t'get you outta here, little miss. Your head don' look so good," he said, sounding disgruntled. He lifted his hand over my face, as if to touch the spot I'd head-butted a steering wheel.

Sighing, I brushed the band-aid and winced. "Barricade."

"I'll rip that fragger's Spark out," he growled.

"It's fine. Let's just go."

"A'ight," he muttered, picking me up. He jumped down from the second story and set me down, then helped the others down to the street as well. Jamison hesitated, the last to in line, but with some encouragement from his coworkers he was also lowered out of the building.

Before we took our leave and the others evacuated, Jazz turned toward the four again and gave them a human salute. "Thanks fo' yer assistance. You have the Autobots' gratitude."

"Autobots?" echoed Sarah.

"That's what the good guys call themselves. The bad guys are Decepticons," I answered.

With that, we went our separate ways. Jazz watched our happy helpers go to make sure they made it safely away, then he attempted a transformation. It was clunky and loud, and lacked the sort of grace I usually associated with it, but the end result was the same. Once I was inside, he "limped" off down the road.

 _"Do I need t'put ya on a leash?"_ he sighed after a few minutes.

"No," I said belligerently.

_"Gotta get'cha some treatment. . .you gotta concussion."_

" _You_ have a concussion," I retorted.

_"Wha's wrong?"_

I turned toward the window and crossed my arms over my chest. "You thanked _them_ but you didn't thank _me_ when I ran over Megatron."

He vented and turned down a street. _"Well cuz it was dumb!"_

"Y _ou're_ dumb," I snorted. "Mad at me for trying to save your life."

 _"I wasn't—Kat, I wasn't_ mad _. I was_ concerned _. You could'a been real hurt. Megatron almost killed ya,_ would _'a killed ya if Optimus hadn' shown up_ ," he explained. At least he sounded more like his old self again. _"I didn' want nothin' t'happen t'ya, little miss."_

Rolling my eyes I said, "Yeah, cuz it's your job, right?"

 _"You know you ain't jus' a job,"_ he chided. He even sounded a little hurt.

Lips pursed, I looked down at my lap and rubbed my sore shoulder. The arm was stiff, but I could still move my fingers. "Sorry. I just didn't want anything bad to happen to you, either."

_"I know, I know. Thanks fo' thinkin' 'bout me."_

I smiled, then clenched my eyes shut against another wave of dizziness. We passed by a squad of police trying to herd civilians away. Jazz ignored their blockade and continued down the path.

Despite my better judgment, I blurted, "I climbed down a building to get to you."

_"Primus, little miss. . . ."_

"I blame the concussion."


	18. Blackout Curtains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, readers!
> 
> Here's the latest batch of chapters. Please let me know how it all went! I'd like to know specifically if the interactions in the second chapter seemed paced right and realistic. Just keep in mind that Kat is a little. . .out of sorts heh. Also, in this chapter, I'm hoping I was accurate with the whole waking up from a concussion, foggy memory, etc etc. I'll ask my sister when I see her in June, as well, cuz she's gone through something like that. 
> 
> But! Above all! I hope you enjoyed. I was really trying to give Kat her own tasks to do, instead of piggybacking off of Sam like she was in the original version. Hopefully I succeeded in that! My goal is to divorce my stories from the movies while still keeping some overlap, like I did in the middle when Kat was hanging out at Sam's house and stuff.
> 
> Thanks for all the support from you guys! I really appreciate it! I've got to shout out to my girl Pixiekatt on ff.net, she's been a HUGE help with these edits, giving me her insights and looking them over for me to make sure everything's going well. If you can, give her fic some love on ff.net (if you want)! It's called Civilian Soldier and is much like my story, where it involves an every day girl put into some not so every day situations, making the best of it. 
> 
> See you guys in the next batch of chapters!

His ride was lopsided, like he was driving on a flat tire. Something inside was grinding, and I wondered if he was in any pain. If his kind felt pain. For humans it was a sign that something was wrong in the body, so surely they had to have some way to know something wasn't right. If not pain, some sort of sensor or an alert.

"Are you sure you should be driving in this form? It's. . .weird," I voiced, poking at the bandage on my head. It was so itchy.

"I'm fine for a li'l bit."

I opened my mouth to ask another question, but he slammed on the breaks and made a quick U-turn before slipping down another street.

"Where're you going? The military is still dealing with the tank, they're down there."

"Bee's engaging."

Startled by that information, I glanced around as if I would see him up and about. "How?"

"Somethin' 'bout a tow truck."

Mikaela.

"So then where are we going?" I asked again, trying to keep my irritation in check. Some of it leaked through in my voice, but if Jazz noticed he didn't say anything.

He didn't have to answer. A bear-sized Cybertronian was stomping around, firing explosives at fleeing civilians. Jazz screeched to a halt and opened the door so I could climb out. "What kind of Decepticon is that?" I demanded.

"Ain't a 'con," Jazz said, already in bipedal mode. "Th' Spark activated. This's a feral 'bot, just woke up. Unpredictable. Stay back."

Nodding, I took a few steps back. Jazz approached the strange new robot with caution, watching it carefully. If I looked closely, I thought I saw the Mountain Dew logo sprawled across its thick arms. I was amused and amazed all at the same time.

The clouds above parted to allow the sun to peak through. I squinted against the sudden light and grimaced, trying to stay upright as my head throbbed.

Jazz' heavy footsteps moved closer until he was next to me and I put my hand up, pushing against what I assumed was his knee. When I took a peak, he was half-bent over me. I offered him a terse smile and said, "Go, I just got a little dizzy."

However, he didn't leave. I visored my eyes against the sun and jumped when he shot a single missile. The explosion knocked the feral Cybertronian down, and it didn't move.

"There. Taken care of. Let's get you some help," he said, tone matter-of-fact.

Gaping, I stood from where I'd sat on the sidewalk. "Did you kill it?"

"Naw," he said. "Don't got time to corral it, though. It's just out. I'll let Ratchet and Ironhide know where it is. I can't afford t'waste no more time."

This time he didn't transform into his car form. The streets closer to the fight were littered with obstacles that would make driving difficult. Instead he scooped me up in his arms and cradled me to his chest. I squeaked in surprise, but was happy to be shaded by his body. The sun was too bright, and I was going to go mad if I didn't get some high grade painkillers sometime soon.

"You're in pain," he commented as he ran.

"Just a headache, some Aspirin or something will hurt."

He scoffed. "You need to be looked at by a professional."

"I will be! I'm not dying, so please, just focus on the war!"

As if it were driving my point home, a building overhead cracked and debris tumbled down. Large chunks of jet rained from the sky, slamming into another building. My line of sight was broken when Jazz swerved to avoid being buried in bits of building. He veered down a side street and I braced myself, trying to keep from being slammed around.

More jets fell from above, likely losing their combat with Starscream.

"Useless seeker," Jazz hissed, making a sudden stop when a chunk of debris hit the ground in front of us. He couldn't quite stop fast enough and had to twist to avoid running into it head-first with me in his arms. Instead, his shoulder bumped into it.

"Shit, are you okay?"

Sighing, he readjusted himself and walked around. "Ye'h. Little bit o' rock'n mortar ain't gon' stop me. You okay?"

Though I wasn't convinced, I remained quiet, merely humming my answer. I was as okay as I was going to be. He was by far in the worst shape between the two of us, but me nitpicking about his injuries wasn't going heal him. There would be time for nursing wounds later, when the Decepticons were beat.

Jazz still seemed determined to move me out of the fray. We caught up to the military despite Starscream's inadvertent interference and he ran up to them with me clinging desperately to his chassis. They were situated in an alleyway, clumped together and preparing for a fight with the helicopter as it walked by their place of cover.

"Woah!" the man named Lennox called, two seconds away from shooting Jazz. "You can't sneak up on us like that, big guy! You—what you got there?"

"Friend o'mine. Mind if she chills here wit' you?" he said, dropping me off.

I was uneasy on my feet and stumbled, but a nearby soldier propped me up.

"Jesus what happened to her?" the man holding me up asked, examining my face. He peeled back my band aid and I swatted him away.

"Airbag," I muttered. "Then I hit a steering wheel in a different car."

"Concussion, bruises, breathing issues, shoulder's messed up and her wrist is sprained," Jazz clarified, making me shoot him a disgruntled glare.

They forced me to sit down against the wall and a soldier posted up in front of me. Lennox shook his head and pointed out toward the street. "We can't help her right now, but she'll be safe here with us. Your man's out there fighting the Megatron thing and we have the helicopter looking to join. That jet is flying around out there messing with our pilots, so we need you on the field.

"A'ight," Jazz said hesitantly as he turned to leave.

Standing was out of the question, so I propped myself up straighter and waved at Jazz when I caught him looking over his shoulder at me. "I'm good here. No need to babysit."

He smirked and saluted, then turned out of the alley.

"'Ey, ugly!" he baited, the rest of his taunt drowned out by the sound of gunfire and roars of outrage from the helicopter.

Sighing, I settled in and closed my eyes against the sunlight. The noises didn't help things, but there wasn't anything I could do about that. Keeping my eyes shut helped a little bit with the nausea, but it was largely non-existent to begin with. At the very least Jazz could rest assured that I was safe and not running head-first into danger.

Like him.

I focused on my breathing, trying to drown out everything that threatened to explode my skull. I had half a mind to ask the soldiers if they had any Tylenol, but I didn't feel like opening my eyes anymore. Or bothering them with trivial matters like a headache.

Sleep sounded good, though.

Really good.

It was warm enough, and I was in good hands with the military. Surely it wouldn't matter if I took a quick cat-nap. I was so tired, and everything ached, everything hurt. A small nap would help. Would be nice if it was dark, but it was mid-afternoon.

Just like coming home from work. . .small doze to relax and unwind. . . .

Everything was fine. I took one last deep breath, coughed a few times, and tried to ignore the world. Surrounded by armed forces and with Jazz nearby, it was easy to let oblivion take me.

*:･ﾟ✧

They started out quiet, the noises. Tiny seeds in the recesses of my mind, sprouting vines that crept and grew with time. Noise for the sake of noise: nonsense. Remnants of dreams lost somewhere within the black void.

The warm darkness gave way to a single voice, so familiar it hurt. It tugged at me, pulled me to the surface of my own comfortable pool of nothing.

"Move out the way! I'm bigger'n you!"

More voices rose to quell the first, telling them to stand back, that space was needed. I couldn't imagine what it was needed for.

Then another voice, unfamiliar but soft, close to my ear. "Miss, miss can you hear me?"

"How long have you been trying now?" yet another person asked.

My eyes were heavy and I wanted to sleep more. Forever, maybe. I wanted these people to go away and leave me the heck alone.

"Seven minutes."

Something was covering my face, and someone was gently shaking my shoulder. Whoever they were, they really wanted to wake me. I groaned and tried to pick up my arm, to send them away and get the thing, whatever it was, off of my head. The arguing—between the voice that made my chest ache and a stranger—and other noises ceased, if only for a moment.

"Alright! She's coming to," the person by me announced.

The familiar voice spoke. "Little miss!"

"Give her a minute, tin man!"

I managed to lift my arm and pat at my face. There was a plastic mask held firmly in place over my nose and mouth. Why? Why would I need help breathing? Was something wrong?

Each grope grew more frantic and my other hand joined the first, trying to pull the mask off. Panic and confusion made my fingers shake and my breaths come in frantic gasps. A warm hand grabbed mine, pulling them to my sides.

"Calm down! You're alright, everything's okay."

They opened one of my eyes by force. When a bright light flashed by, I twisted my head free and tried to swat at the aggressor, but to no avail. They held my hands fast, and it only served to add to the distress. Why were there so many people?

"'Ey, 'ey, little miss they tryn'a help."

The voice was enough to calm my nerves. I stopped struggling and took a deep breath of the fresh air, my breath humid and warm against the plastic mask.

"Atta girl."

"What's your name, miss?" the person at my side asked, letting go of my hands.

Whoever they were, they were nothing but a shadow before me. No matter how hard I tried, how much I squinted or opened my eyes wide, I couldn't focus. It was almost as difficult to find my voice, but that came after a few attempts.

"What?" The word was barely a whisper.

"Your name. What's your name?" they repeated. A man, I thought.

Name, name. The thing people called me. My face screwed as I searched for the right combination of sounds that designated who I was. It was right at the tip of my tongue, but I couldn't quite grasp anything more than a sound—kah, kuh. . . . Something.

"I. . .um. . .it's—" Pain throbbed behind my eyes and I winced. It was there, right there! If only I could reach a little further to grab a hold of it.

"Take your time," the person cooed when I started to fidget in my distress.

That familiar voice came again, irritated. "I c'n tell ya her name!"

He was quickly admonished. "We don't need to know it, we need to know if she can remember it. Step back!"

"She's fine, relax." Another familiar voice.

After a second the pain receded and left behind the name I was looking for. "Kat."

"Cat?"

First I nodded, then I shook my head and grimaced. "It's Kat, my name is Kat. It's short. Kathy, no. . .Kathryn. It's Kathryn."

"Kathryn what?"

When would the questions end? I wanted to go home, I wanted to sit up, but they kept stopping me. I wanted to see—shapes were starting to appear, but they were blurry still. If I wanted anything, I would have to play their memory games.

"Walking, or. . .Walker. Kathryn Walker."

"You're sure?"

"Yes," I was surprised by the conviction in my voice. I was Kathryn Walker, from Park City, Montana. I had never been so sure of anything. "Can I go home, now? I want to go home."

"Where is home?" the man promptly asked. He wasn't a dark silhouette, I realized, just dark.

Finally my vision cleared. The same clarity came to my thoughts, but certain memories were still buried beneath the fog of pain and the deep sleep. There was someone missing, a debilitating gap in my memory that was very important.

"I—it's in Park City. My—they'll be worried about me. Please, please can I go home?"

"Who'll be worried about you?"

Tears fell from my face, but I wasn't entirely sure why. I looked around and saw tall people in the very back—not people. No. . .those weren't people. But I wasn't scared. Not of them.

"Ms. Walker, who will be worried about you?"

"My par—" I couldn't finish the word. The memory hit me then as I thought about them, saw their faces. Fleeting dream memories of them, warm and safe, bathed over me like a cold fire and I choked on the word. Parents.

The man cooed and muttered platitudes, his hands on my shoulders. I realized I was crying, fighting back sobs.

He said, "Woah, it's fine if you can't remember! Don't freak out, it's going to be okay."

A second later he was removing the mask from my face and I took several deep breaths, suppressing the coughs that threatened to surface. One of the tall not-people—robots, right. Autobots, I remembered, I finally recalled they were aliens.

After I'd calmed down some, the man decided to skip the question about who would be worrying about me. The answer, of course, was no one.

Or, not no one. Just one person.

"Do you know where you are or what day it is?"

I looked around to glean an answer from the nearby surroundings. I was still on my back, something soft but lumpy under my head. All I could see was the tops of the buildings. Tall buildings, missing chunks. So much destruction, and dust everywhere.

"I—it's Sunday, right?"

"Yes, yes that's right. And where are you?"

"A. . .warzone?"

Some people chuckled and I was instantly disgruntled, cheeks burning.

"Well she's not wrong."

Glowering, I searched around for more clues, but more importantly for that one person who would be concerned about me. He'd been the familiar voice, but his name fled just as my own had earlier. He was quiet, and I knew that was bad. He wasn't making any quips, didn't have any comments.

As the clouds in my head parted, I grew apprehensive. I knew it wasn't a good thing he was silent. Silence meant he was upset. I had to tell him I was okay, just sleepy. I just needed rest.

He had to understand I was okay. I didn't mean to make him worry.

"What's the last thing you remember, Miss Walker?"

There it was—a bright beacon splitting the dark. His name.

"Jazz."

"Come again?"

Shaking my head, I tried to sit up and brushed remaining tears away from my eyes with the back of my head. "I remember. I'm in Mission City."

Despite some protests I managed to move into an upright position and pulled the mask off my face. Slamming a car into Megatron; the airbag powder I'd inhaled; meeting Barricade face-to-steering-wheel; pulling Jazz out of a building, kind of. It was all back.

Once I was up, he was the first person I sought. He'd been watching quietly, standing back to let the military help me out.

When they realized they couldn't stop me, the soldiers helped me stand. Ratchet was next to Jazz, no doubt feeding everyone information about my vitals or assuring Jazz everything was okay. The medical officer had a limp mech under his arm: the vending machine from before. When I was up, Jazz moved to meet me but hesitated.

"There you are," I said, smiling at him. My voice was still hoarse, my throat scratchy and dry.

Before I could go any further, a weight fell on my good shoulder and a canteen of water was thrust into my arms. "Drink this."

I did so without complaint, glad to soothe the sandpaper that lined my throat.

The man who gave it to me continued. "You're okay for now, just take it easy. You'll need to get to a hospital before you go falling asleep again so they can see how bad the concussion is. It took us ten minutes to wake you up, lady."

He was tall and dark, the same man who'd been with Lennox the whole time. I hadn't seen Lennox yet, not since before my nap.

"Sorry?" I offered, handing back the canteen. I'd emptied it.

"No need to apologize," he chuckled, flashing a lopsided grin and taking the empty container from me. "Just giving you a head's up if the doctors ask. Gave us all a bit of a scare 'till the green guy over there assured us you weren't gonna up and die."

Lennox poked his head around the corner seconds later, demanding his comrade's attention. I used the distraction to make a move toward Jazz. The soldiers had relief efforts to attend to.

And I wanted to see my friend.

Jazz crouched and offered me his hand. "I knew you'd be alright."

My steps faltered and I caught myself on his fingers. I stood up, bracing myself against his hand, and smiled at him. "Weren't even a little bit concerned about me?"

"Naw," he shrugged, an attempt at nonchalance.

I smirked and pat his hand once. "You're a bad liar."

Though he seemed ready to say more, the Mountain Dew robot in Ratchet's arms woke up. It started screeching in a half-Cybertronian gibberish, thrashing to free itself. I gasped and took a step back, and the soldiers went on the immediate defensive. However, Ratchet gave the 'bot a hearty shake until it stopped moving. However, it still continued to jabber and complain about its situation.

"What's that?"

Glancing over at Ratchet, Jazz said, "The feral guy from before."

"That's. . .not what I meant," I muttered, rubbing my temple. "I mean. . .what is—what are you going to do with it?"

He shrugged. "Dunno, don' wanna offline it, though. It just don' know what it doing."

"So you're gonna. . .teach it?" I clarified.

"If it can be taught," Ratchet said.

It found its second wind and started thrashing again, catching Ratchet by surprise and freeing itself. He and Jazz took off after it when the thing started sprinting down the street, Jazz shouting at me to stay put. The alleyway had been largely cleared out, though, and I didn't want to stand by myself.

Surely it would be fine if I just took a short walk. I wanted to see where Sam and Mikaela was, check on Bumblebee. He was hurt, but I couldn't remember why or how.

I was meticulous about my steps, making sure I wasn't going to fall or walk off in a strange direction. I followed the wall, one hand pinned to the bricks just in case I took a spill. At the end of the alley, I peered around the corner.

The Mountain Dew machine was making life difficult for Jazz and Ratchet, running all over the place. It wasn't making a big effort to escape anywhere and only seemed interested in continuing whatever game it thought it was playing. It ran up and down allies, only to circle back. Optimus and Ironhide were nowhere to be seen.

Sam and Mikaela, however, were with Bumblebee; still strung up on a tow truck. Legs, right. That's how he was hurt. I took one step at a time, making slow progress toward them.

The vending machine came running past and I stumbled to a stop, almost bowled over. I could have sworn the damn thing was laughing the whole time, like he'd done it on purpose. He headed for Sam and Mikaela, but Bumblebee fired off a warning shot that made it turn in a different direction. Before I could pick myself up, though, someone did it for me.

"Kat am I gonna have t'tie ya up?" Jazz huffed.

"No, just put me down over there," I grumbled.

He snickered and dropped me off by the teenagers, then jumped back into trying to wrangle up the feral mutation. Ratchet was firing off every foul word he knew in every language, and the vending machine was having the time of its new life.

Mikaela caught sight of me first and ran to my side, dragging me over to sit on a piece of rubble. "What happened, Kat?"

"A lot," I muttered, turning so I wasn't facing the sun. "Do you have any Aspirin or something?"

She nodded and started to walk away, saying, "I think so, let me check."

"You look terrible," Sam commented as Mikaela walked by him; a poor attempt at humor. He was cradling his arm to his chest and was covered in dirt and dust.

I glowered at him, but quipped back all the same. "Should see the other guy."

Sam smirked, then moved out of the way when Mikaela came back from the cab of the tow truck. "I have Ibuprofen, is that okay?"

Nodding, I took the couple pills she offered and popped them in my mouth, swallowing dry. "What happened to you?" I asked, indicating to Sam.

"Well, I had to get the cube to this building, right?" he started, scratching at dried blood on his head. He seemed eager to tell the tale. "But Megatron caught up and blasted me off. Optimus caught me, but y'know, Megatron, he tackled us. And, that hurt and—so, I don't know. I have like, this cut on my leg and I might have broken my wrist or something. It hurts. But—you look pretty bad, too. Wanna—wanna go to the same hospital? We'll be hospital buddies."

Guy sure knew how to talk.

"I don't see why not," I shrugged. I didn't really want to go to the hospital at all, considering the oh so fun memories I had of my last visit, but Jazz wouldn't allow that.

Jazz shouted in victory and I turned to look. He was sitting on top of an aggravated and screeching vending machine. Ratchet stomped toward him and together they detained the thing. Sam and Mikaela followed my gaze and Sam made a face.

"That's probably my fault. I ran into a car and fell. I accidentally smashed the cube on the ground and there was a shockwave. . .I think that's what happened."

"Good work, Sam," Mikaela teased with a roll of her eyes.

"Hey, next time you run for your life and I'll drive Bumblebee around!"

Ratchet did something and the vending machine reverted into its alt—or original?—mode. It shook and shuddered, and was still making awful noises, but didn't change back into a bipedal form. I wondered why they didn't just do that in the first place.

"So we won," I commented. The first sign was the distinct lack of explosions and screaming.

"Seems that way," Mikaela sighed.

"I killed Megatron, so I think so," Sam said, puffing his chest out and sniffing.

He seemed so proud of himself. I smiled, allowing him the proper amount of my awe. "How'd you manage that one?"

"Used the cube," he boasted.

First I didn't understand. I knit my brows together and thought about it a moment, looking around for the item in question. When I couldn't see it, realization hit me a few seconds later and my eyes widened. "You. . .merged the cube with his spark?"

Sam deflated and stumbled on his words. "I—yeah uh, um I guess. It, I put the cube in his chest. How did you um—how did you know that?"

My head throbbed painfully and I clenched my eyes shut, grinding my teeth. The wave of pain and subsequent nausea subsided and I cracked my eyes open to say, "Optimus and the others were talking about it on the way here."

He licked his lips and sat down next to me. "Optimus tried to get me to put it in his chest instead, but y'know I thought—why kill Optimus when I could just get rid of Megatron?"

"Smart," I said with a smirk. I closed my eyes and extended my good hand to give him a congratulatory pat on the knee. My other arm was still heavy and hurt to lift too high. "I'm sure the Autobots are proud of you."

His smile stretched from ear to ear while my own turned sad. I averted my gaze and sighed quietly. "I'm sorry you had to be the one to do it."

"What do you mean?"

I shrugged. "There's so many other adults here. Surely someone else could have."

Shaking his head, Sam leaned forward and shifted uncomfortably, like he was unsure if he should touch me. "Nah—no, I mean, everyone was busy with their own things. I should have done something, and this was the thing I could do, I guess. Looks like you were doing stuff, right?"

"Yeah, Kat. What happened to you?" Mikaela asked.

Truth be told I was reluctant to tell them about all the dumb shit I'd done, but I paraphrased my misadventures anyway. Maybe if I didn't go into too much detail they wouldn't think I was a giant dumbass, like Jazz seemed to.

No, I didn't really believe that.

"You tried to climb down a building?" Sam interjected, eyebrows raised.

"Listen here. . .I wanted to get down and it was the only way," I muttered, rubbing my forehead. "But yes, I did. But this guy pulled me in, then I recruited a bunch of stuffy suits to get Jazz on his feet, and now we're here."

"They really helped you?" asked Mikaela.

"Enough of them did," I said.

Jazz walked up then. His arm looked better, I realized, but he still wasn't moving it much. I stifled a smile, finding it strangely amusing that we had one similar injury. "You managed to catch that thing, huh? Seemed like it was giving you a run for your money."

"Ye'h we got 'im. Feisty rascal," Jazz said, shaking his head.

I glanced over to check on the vending machine, but it was being left alone in the middle of the street. A few soldiers watched it, jumping every time it shuddered. Optimus had reappeared along with Ironhide, and Ratchet was running a diagnostic on the weapon's expert.

Pointing to it I said, "What did you do to it?"

"Ratchet did that," Jazz explained with an errant hand wave. "Just forced it into a transformation and locked it."

"You can do that?" Sam marveled.

Jazz nodded. "Ye'h, to most bots, if you c'n get close enough and shove a servo deep enough."

"Sounds dirty," Sam muttered. Mikaela slapped the back of his shoulder.

"What are you going to do if it can't be. . .tamed?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Dunno. We'll figure it out later. Gotta get y'all to a hospital. Lennox is having me take you t'Vegas. Hospitals here are gon' be too busy."

Sam stood, shaking his head, and put a hand on Bumblebee's arm. "I can't leave Bee."

"Bee'll be fine. Can't say so much for you or the little miss."

Mikaela put her hand on his shoulder and offered him a smile. "I'm fine, I'll stay with him. I can help Ratchet with some repairs. Go get your arm looked at."

"You sure?"

"Of course."

Meanwhile, I was already on my feet, waiting for Jazz to transform. I was ready for a hefty prescription for high-grade painkillers and a nice hospital bed (I use the term "nice" loosely) for a few hours. I was a little disappointed I'd have to share a ride with Sam, but I supposed I couldn't keep Jazz to myself all the time.

Maybe it would keep him from scolding me more, but he seemed to be in high spirits.

Suppose winning a war would do that.


	19. Out of Reach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the wait on these chapters. These actually bring the end of this fic! It's finally here haha. Now I can finally start working on the sequel. Eventually. Maybe by the end of the year, I'll be able to get the first chapter up. I still have a lot of edits on Phantasm to do, and then keeping my other two fics up to date as well. :/ 
> 
> Eh, I'll figure it out.
> 
> So I've agonized over these chapters long enough. I give up, and I'm going to post them as-is. PLEASE let me know of any critical errors you find and I'll go back and fix them. :/ I can only stare at these chapters so long before I have to just go ahead and post them. Thanks in advance! Hope you like the thrilling conclusion to Better Days (in the next few chapters).

 

Despite all my protests, Jazz insisted Sam sit in the driver's seat. He didn't want anyone lecturing me about driving with a head injury if they caught me climbing out of the car. The two teamed up on me about it in the end, giving me no choice but to relent. It would have been a good chance for me to grab another quick nap.

Except no one else seemed to think so.

"Did you really?" I asked Sam, going through the motion of joining in the conversation he so desperately wanted to have. They were double-teaming me again, trying to keep me awake. Usually, it was with inane conversation.

"Yeah—yeah. Told that stupid. . .Simmons? Yeah, Simmons. I told him to take me to my car so we could get the cube out. And he wasn't going to! Y'know? The guy—matter of national security and he won't let me get Bumblebee so we can stop Megatron from enslaving the world. You know what they were calling him?"

"What?" I sighed.

"NBE-1. The hell kind of name is that?" Sam rolled his eyes.

I humored him. "Does it stand for something?"

He floundered for a moment, trying to remember. "Yeah, um, like, something like 'non-biological' um, entity? No extraterrestrial. Something like that. And 'one' I guess because he was the first they found."

"Ah."

The song on the radio switched over and Sam bounced in his seat. "Oh! Oh! Jazz turn that shit up this is my jam!"

Before I could so much as complain, he was singing so loud it drowned out the actual song. It had been a whole six minutes since the last time he started belting out lyrics, and my head was suffering for it. The painkillers Mikaela had given me couldn't keep up with their combined obnoxiousness and I thought I might go mad.

"Please," I whimpered, my hands pressing on the sides of my head.

Jazz buzzed in sympathy. At least if I got him talking it forced the music down, and Sam quieted to let him speak. _"I know it sucks, little miss. Ratchet gave me strict orders to keep ya awake, though."_

"Let's be real, Jazz, I'm the one keeping her awake," Sam teased.

"Yeah, with your ear-splitting voice," I spat.

Sam put his hand over his heart and said, "Ow, you wound me."

I glared at him and he gave me a light tap to the shoulder with the back of his hand. "Hey lighten up, we're just worried about you, that's all."

"Then let me take a nap!"

_"An' risk another ten minutes'a not knowin' if you'd wake up?"_ Jazz said, any trace of his usual jovial tone gone for the moment. _"Naw, I ain't takin' no risks."_

Sighing, I leaned my head back against the seat. "Fine."

There would be no winning this one. Especially when they were doing it out of the kindness of their hearts—or in Jazz' case, spark.

"Besides," Sam added, looking from me to the dashboard, "once the doc checks you out, you'll be able to sleep as much as you want. Right? They just gotta—make sure you're not gonna like, slip into a coma or something. Right, Jazz?"

_"Somethin' like that."_

"Wonderful, can't wait," I muttered.

The music pumped up, but something occurred to me and I leaned forward to turn it back down. Jazz immediately went on the defensive. _"Kat c'mon what we just—"_

"Jazz! I just want to ask a question."

_"Oh. Ma bad."_

A passing Hummer had reminded me. I rolled my eyes at Jazz and settled back into my seat before asking him the question. "Back when I hit Megatron. . . . I didn't do it right. I couldn't get the truck to turn the way I wanted it to. So. . .how did he go down?"

_"I saw ya comin'. Didn' know it was you, but I saw someone comin' t'hit him. So, I shot at his legs and made him dance. When ya did run him over, he was already imbalanced. Went down like a rock."_

I huffed and stretched my legs out under the dash. "Uh huh. Bet you were pretty grateful."

_"I'm_ still _grateful!"_

"I'm teasing," I cooed. "Who's going to take care of you? You're still all wobbly."

Jazz adjusted his suspension. _"I'm good. Ratchet gave me a quick fix so I could drive y'all out to the hospital. It'll last 'till we meet up again."_

"You should think about yourself sometimes y'know, Jazz. We don't want you falling apart on us now," Sam said. We had finally moved into the meat of Las Vegas and he was leaning forward, staring at the tall buildings and impressive casinos. The sun was moving lower and lower beyond the horizon, so the buildings were starting to light up.

_"Ya don' need t'worry 'bout me,"_ Jazz chuckled. _"I've seen much worse."_

"And Bumblebee?" Sam asked, lips thinning.

_"He's survived more'n just a couple missing legs. His're far more attachable than yours are, y'know,"_ he assured the teen.

Nodding, Sam resettled into his seat. The music turned back up.

When I thought I could sneak in a couple Zs, Sam shook me awake.

"Can't get past my iron defenses," he taunted. I glowered at the dash for the rest of the ride while he babbled on about his ventures in Sector Seven.

*:･ﾟ✧

I was antsy the entire time I waited in urgent care. All I could think about was sitting in the lobby, waiting for news about my parents. It might take hours, mostly because there were so many drunken idiots who'd crashed somewhere, or bar crawlers who had gotten in over their head during a fight. I went with the former as an excuse—a drunk asshole hit me and I smacked my head on the steering wheel.

A little bit of truth, a little bit of fabrication. They were too busy to question any holes in my story and told me to have a seat until a doctor could see me.

It was so loud, though.

My head felt like it was going to split open by the time Sam's and my name were called. We were separated. The nurse led me out of the cacophony of the waiting room and into a quieter examination area. She pulled the curtain around my bed, blocking me off from the moaning man who was to be my neighbor.

"Ms. Kathryn Walker, is it?" the nurse said, scrawling over my chart.

"Yeah."

"I'm just going to check your vitals, where are you experiencing the most pain?"

"Well, I have a concussion probably so my head hurts a lot," I muttered, even more irritated now that I was locked up in a freaking hospital, the last place I wanted to be.

She raised her eyebrows but let my comment slide. When she was done scribbling, she hung the chart at the end of my table and approached me. I winced when she peeled back the bandage on my forehead and her jaw tightened. "That's going to need stitches. . . . You hit the steering wheel here?"

"Yes."

"Alright, just hang tight for a moment."

Then she proceeded to take _several_ moments checking my pulse and blood pressure. It took the doctor another hour or so afterwards to make his way to me and somehow I was supposed to entertain myself. The goons back at "Sector Seven" still had all my shit and Sam was nowhere near me, so it wasn't like he could serenade me awake.

How was I supposed to keep myself from drifting off?

Somehow I managed, though. Between the sudden outbursts from other patients and the whiny man-baby next to me, there was plenty of noise to keep my headache pounding away and sleep just barely out of reach.

The doctor was accompanied by a nurse when he arrived. He introduced himself as Doctor Calhoun, the nurse as Jamie.

"Bumped your noggin, did you?"

My glare made him clear his throat and he checked over my chart. "Alright, so you might need some stitches. Let me take a look here."

His touch was gentle, but the pressure from his fingers still made me wince. He sent the nurse to fetch the sutures and supplies while he did so; one look was enough to tell him that the initial assessment was correct. When she returned, he made me lie down and gave me a reassuring smile.

"We're going to numb the area. . .you're going to feel a little pinch."

I took a few deep breaths and closed my eyes tight, fingers digging into the cheap hospital mattress. When he told me to relax I did my best, but it all went out the window when he stuck me with the needle. "A little pinch" was the understatement of a lifetime.

"Breathe," the nurse said. I'd almost forgotten the most basic of bodily functions while they stuck me all around the wound.

"There," the doctor said when he was done. "You should be numb there in the next few seconds. I'm going to clean it now and then stitch it up. It says here you got the injury in a car accident. You hit the steering wheel or window?"

"Yes, the wheel," I said through clenched teeth.

"Any nausea or vomiting?"

"I've been a little nauseous, but otherwise just this splitting headache." The local anesthetic kicked in, and he was busy cleaning the cut with some wipes. "Some memory issues."

He nodded at my words and kept asking me questions of a similar manner. When I told him I'd fallen asleep soon afterwards, he wanted to know if I'd woken up without issue, which I had to answer in the negative. He didn't seem bothered, though, and just kept interviewing me. The sensation of skin tugging while he sewed up the wound nagged at me, but it wasn't unpleasant.

Six stitches later, they decided to keep me overnight—especially since I lived out of state and had no emergency contacts to drive me home. Maybe I could have told them I'd go home with Sam, but I didn't want to suffer through another car ride with him. I was given something for the pain, but I wasn't at risk for a coma or anything else life-threatening. They moved me to a private room and finally, _finally,_ I was allowed to sleep.

For the first time in days it was blissful and uneventful. I was so out of it, hopped up on painkillers, that I didn't even dream. Nothing but darkness and warmth, and the distinct lack of a headache. That was something I'd have to get used to for a while: the doctors told me that symptoms might come and go for weeks, maybe months.

There was one downside to sleeping—they woke me up every hour for part of the night. Just to make sure I wasn't having problems waking.

After the fourth or fifth hour, though, they let me sleep through until breakfast.

When they did serve me, it wasn't horrible. But the free pudding was the highlight of being at the hospital. I had already accumulated four empty cups by the time Mikaela came to visit me early in the afternoon. I assumed she was there to see Sam, but she informed me that he had been released after receiving treatment.

"You feeling any better today?" she asked, sitting in the chair next to my bed. The TV across from me was turned to some old school _Law and Order_.

I scratched my forehead, trying to avoid the stitches. They didn't hurt, but they were irritating and once the local numbing agent wore off the spot was sore and tender. "Yeah, I guess. Just hate being here. I wish they'd release me."

Mikaela smiled and glanced around. "It doesn't seem so bad. You'll be out soon, right?"

"The pudding's good," I agreed, flicking an empty cup on my tray. "They said probably later today, they just want me to call someone to pick me up and drive me back to Montana."

It hadn't even been half a day and I was already miserable. I could almost feel the people dying around me, and if things became too quiet, I heard in my mind the doctors telling me that Dad hadn't survived the surgery. That there was nothing they could do. That they were sorry.

"How's Sam?" I asked, closing my eyes and covering my face with my hand.

"I told you," Mikaela said with a giggle. "He just dislocated his arm. It'll be fine after a few weeks of rest. Just going to have it in a sling for a while."

Grimacing, I gave her an apologetic look. "Sorry, having a hard time remembering things."

"Do you know how long that's going to last?"

"Dunno," I shrugged. "They say it varies. Could be days, weeks, months. Forever."

Her face twisted with sympathy. "There's nothing they can do? Was it really that bad?"

"Not much they can do, no. They recommended I call a doctor when I get home and schedule an appointment for some sort of, uh, scan. I can't remember what the doctor called it."

"I'm sure they'll write it down for you," she said.

"Maybe." My glance turned to the window and I craned my neck. "Is he still out there?"

"He's the one who brought me here," Mikaela replied, turning in her chair to follow my gaze. We were on the second floor, but I knew he was out there. She didn't even need to ask who I was talking about.

A fond smile spread across my face and I pushed the tray out of my way so I could recline better. "Doesn't he need to be repaired or something?"

She replied, "After dropping you off and Sam was released, he came back to help escort Bumblebee to my dad's old garage. Ratchet looked everyone over there and gave him some more repairs. Bumblebee will be a little trickier, so Sector Seven is sending out some mechanics."

"Really? They're going to help the Autobots?" I asked skeptically.

The door opened before my companion could answer and we both turned toward it, smiles fading when we saw who it was. Mikaela scoffed and turned away from the door, jaw set and arms crossed over her chest. I gave Simmons a disgruntled look.

"Am I interrupting something?" he asked. It didn't sound like he cared.

"You guys are really helping the Autobots?" I scoffed.

He stopped a few steps inside the door and looked between the two of us. He had a box in his arms. "Well, see, the president decided that since they helped save the world that we should help."

I glowered and ignored his explanation to demand, "Who let you in here to see me?"

"I've got a badge, they can't keep me away Ms. Walker," he grunted. "I'm not here to cause trouble, I just wanted to bring you your things."

Simmons set the box down on the counter by the sink and brushed his hands against his pants.

"Oh, you mean the stuff you _stole_ after _kidnapping_ me," I elaborated for him. Sighing, I raised my hand and flicked my fingers toward my palm. "Give me my phone, at least."

Nodding, he dug around until he came away with my cell and walked it over. Mikaela still wouldn't look at him. I took my phone, denying him any gratitude, and found the screen blank. Dead battery. I groaned quietly and leaned back against my bed.

"I put my card in that box for you," he said, backing up a few paces. "Call me if you change your mind about Sector Seven. Or if you want to talk about your father."

"Just leave," I muttered, staring at my dead phone. "I don't want to talk to you about anything."

For a moment he seemed like he was going to protest, but our combined surly demeanors were enough to drive him from the room. The soldier from Mission City came in before he left, stepping aside to let Simmons leave.

"Afternoon, ladies," Captain Lennox said, momentarily confused. "He bothering you?"

"Not anymore," I said.

He walked over, wearing his uniform and everything, and I watched him warily. Mikaela leaned back in her seat.

"What's the occasion?" I asked.

Lennox glanced over at Mikaela, but didn't otherwise seem bothered by her presence. "We had to contact your closest relatives, Kathryn. Your aunt and uncle. We told them that you were hurt and where you were being kept."

Mikaela looked between us and shifted in her seat. "Should I go?"

Dread prickled at the back of my neck. I said, "You don't have to if you don't want to."

She smiled and got up from her seat. "It's alright. I should get back to Tranquility, see how Bumblebee's doing."

The panic must have showed on my face because she put her hands up and quickly amended, "Ironhide followed us down so he could take me home. Jazz'll be waiting for you when you're finally released. Though, I'm not sure how you're going to get out if they want someone else to drive you."

"Don't worry about any of that," he insisted, waving her concerns off. "Your friend and I worked up something. We've got it taken care of."

Lips pursed, Mikaela seemed satisfied and wished me a speedy recovery before leaving. The fact that she'd come all the way from Tranquility to Las Vegas just to see how I was doing touched me. I felt bad she had to get wrapped up in the whole ordeal.

After she was gone, I turned to Lennox and gave him a look. I was curious about this scheme he and Jazz cooked up, but had more pressing concerns. "What did my family say?"

"They wanted to know if they needed to come pick you up. I told them you'd be able to get home just fine, but I didn't tell them anything about _how_ you were hurt. They were just glad you were okay." He pulled up another chair, flipping it around to sit on it backwards.

I sighed with relief and smiled. However, it quickly faded. "So how does this work, then?"

"How does what work?"

"This—me knowing all of this. About the Autobots and Decepticons and. . .all of it. What am I going to tell my family when they try to check up on me?"

He took a deep breath and said, "What did you tell the hospital when you were admitted?"

"Well we're in Vegas so I told them I was hit by a drunk driver."

"Good," he said. "If we can keep you out of Mission City altogether, that'll work great. Vegas is a popular destination. We'll still need to debrief you once the government has a cover story prepared. Usually the fallback is terrorists, but so long as you keep it all a secret, you shouldn't have any trouble from us."

"So, I just tell people I ran away to Vegas and got in an accident with a drunk guy?" I clarified.

"That'd explain the fancy new car, wouldn't it? Won some money, insurance claim came through, bought a snazzy looking sport's car? I'm not sure how'd you explain that behavior, but that's just one of many options if you choose the Vegas route."

I had to admit, it wouldn't be hard. I was in the middle of grieving my parents' death. People did weird and crazy things when they were in mourning.

Lennox brought up a good point, too. I had forgotten all about coming up with a reason to explain Jazz' Solstice form. I guess I assumed he would go back to pretending to be my Camry, but that Pontiac really did suit him better.

"I'll manage."

"I'm gonna need a bit more than that if I'm gonna let you go home before I get a chance to give you a fabricated story," he frowned.

"Fine, yeah, I'll stick with the Vegas story. I promise."

He smirked and pulled a card from his breast pocket. "This has my number on it. I'll let everyone know we've set up your story. I know you wouldn't want anything bad to happen to your friend so I'll tell my superiors they don't have to worry about you."

I didn't miss the thinly veiled threat, though I wasn't sure if he meant it to be.

"Thank you, Captain. Just set it in that box for me please," I said, pointing at it on the counter.

"Call me if you have any questions, or if you feel like you might be in trouble. That's my personal cell, so you can text it if you want. We might be in touch in the future."

It seemed that everything he said had an accidental ominous undertone. "Sure."

"Alright, thank you for your time, Ms. Walker. I'll see about getting you released so you can start the ride home. I hope you feel better soon." His smile was genuine and I returned it with my own until he left out the door.

*:･ﾟ✧

Now that I had a supposed ride, I was able to fill out the release papers and go. They insisted I leave the hospital in a wheelchair even though I could walk. Something about hospital policy, or some other bullshit. Maybe they didn't want people walking out and then immediately collapsing and blaming the staff for it. It was stupid, and I insisted I was fine, but they didn't care.

Lennox was my escort, along with the nurse who was in control of my chair.

The moment the front doors slid apart I was raising myself up in my seat, craning my neck to spot that familiar glint of silver.

"Remember, Ms. Walker, absolutely no exercise for the next eight weeks. Have that prescription filled at any pharmacy and take two pills every six hours to keep the pain down. Call your doctor if your headaches get any worse or something else seems off." The nurse ran through the large list of procedures I needed to adhere to, but I'd heard them a million times.

They'd also given me a print-out with everything I needed to remember, since I couldn't be trusted to remember it all myself. It was all very insulting, even if it was necessary.

"Yes, thank you, I'll remember," I muttered, still looking for a certain Pontiac Solstice.

"Alright, you're free to go. Hope your recovery goes well," she said with a smile. "Is your car very far? We can wheel you out to if you like."

But I was already on my feet, testing my coordination. "No, I can walk."

"I'm gonna take your word on that. Have a good day, now." She wheeled the chair back into the hospital and the doors closed, cutting off the nice air-conditioned breeze that was coming from inside. I sighed and adjusted my bag on my shoulder.

"Where's Jazz at?" I asked, glancing at Lennox.

"I'm sure he's coming. I told him you were being released," Lennox said, hands in his pockets. "Maybe he's nervous?"

Chuckling, I rubbed my brow. "What in the world would he be nervous about?"

"Hey, I don't know. I'm just spit-balling."

As if he knew we were talking about him, Jazz pulled up right in front of us, tires squealing to a stop. He made no sounds, didn't greet us—I figured he didn't want to catch any attention.

"Ah, speak of the devil," I grinned.

Lennox offered me his arm and I gladly took it, allowing him to lead me off the curb. I seemed okay to walk: there was no staggering and I put one foot in front of the other without tripping on myself, but it was nice to know he'd be there to catch me if I fell.

There was a shadow in the driver's seat, but I just figured it was that Epps guy, going to pretend to be my driver. I'd imagined Lennox would, but I didn't care who did so long as they dropped themselves off somewhere and left me to go home in peace. However, as I climbed into the passenger seat, I found a complete stranger sitting in the driver's spot.

"Whoa calm down," Lennox cooed when I almost pulled him into the car with me as I tried to get back out. I don't know why I panicked—Jazz wouldn't let anyone in him that he didn't trust. It had just taken me by surprise.

Still I clung to Lennox for a moment, staring at the strange, dark man in the seat. He didn't look back at me, just sat there with his hands at ten and two and eyes on the road.

_"Cap'n you didn' tell her?"_ Jazz said, voice quiet in the speakers.

"I thought you wanted it to be a surprise."

I lowered myself into the seat and let go of Lennox. "A hologram?"

_"I told ya she was jumpy."_

Lennox scratched his nose and waved his hand errantly by his head. "I didn't think you meant she was _this_ jumpy."

Since no one was paying me any attention, I reached out to touch the stranger's shoulder, but my fingers passed through. That familiar sensation of electricity buzzing at my fingertips told me all I needed to know. It was just like back when I'd met Optimus' hologram.

"Who is this?" I asked, glancing at the dash.

_"High-roller I passed by at th' Excalibur,"_ Jazz explained. The fancy suit and expensive watch should have clued me into that earlier.

"He's your driver! At least until you're out of the city. You still got my number?"

"Yeah," I assured him, still giving the hologram a suspicious sidelong glance.

Nodding, Lennox stood back so he could close the door. "Don't forget to call if you need to, but if you see any strange numbers, it might be me calling. Remember, you were in Vegas for the incident."

"Will do, captain," I said with a little salute. "I won't forget."

He chuckled and looked over at the holographic man. "You watch out for her, got it?"

Jazz' frame rattled in response and I grimaced.

Lennox looked between the two of us, decided everything was good, then closed my door and rapped his palm on the hood. At the signal, Jazz pulled forward and we were heading out of the hospital. Traffic was horrible, so it was slow progress out of the city.

For the longest time Jazz said nothing, and I couldn't stop looking at the strange hologram he'd conjured up. Whoever he picked, he dressed up nice. I tried not to stare openly, but kept glancing at him, hands wringing each other in my lap. There wasn't anything _right_ about it. He looked real, almost natural sitting in the seat, but it wasn't _Jazz_.

"You—how come you didn't use a hologram to drive me all the way out here?" I asked.

_"You was drivin' most'a the time. 'Sides, I needed ya t'believe I was an alien."_

Sure he was speaking to me, but there was a thickness in the air, an aura of uncertainty. I started to fidget in my seat, face burning.

Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. Something was eating him. "Jazz is something. . . ?"

_"I know ya got stuff to do, so I'mma take y'back t'Montana. Promise it'll be th'last road trip fo' a while. Sorry you gotta sit in a car more."_

I slowly closed my mouth and organized my thoughts. "Jazz, I'm sorry."

_"'Bout wha'?"_

"For being a big pain in the ass," I sighed. "I was a real heel."

He fell silent and I wondered if would forgive me. Not about putting my life in danger to help him, but for being so snappish and insubordinate.

Finally, he spoke. _"It ain't yo' fault. Irritability is a symptom of a concussion."_

"None of the other stuff was," I countered. "You told me to do something, and I didn't do it and wound up getting said concussion because of it."

His frame shuddered under me, like he was squirming. _"I can't blame ya fo' that, either. I shoulda known there wouldn' be a safe place fo' someone in a war zone. Heard from Lennox ya helped out with crowd control, an' ya saved my aft a few times, so it's not like ya got hurt for nothin'."_

"Jazz," I said. "Tell me how you really feel."

_"Tha's how I feel! I mean, wish I coulda at least returned th'favor an' kept ya safe from Barricade in th'first place, but I'm gonna get 'im back for ya. Promise."_

I shook my head and again and caught the hologram in the corner of my eye. I had tried to ignore the best I could, but it was a small car and it felt so awkward. The human he'd chosen for his hologram was uncanny. It had been so easy with Optimus, I knew it was a hologram and I was able to ignore it, but with Jazz I was. . .flustered, uncomfortable.

It wasn't Jazz. Jazz was a robot disguised as a car, not a man. I couldn't let myself think of him as just another man. All it did was fill my stomach with butterflies. It was easy enough to continue on as if nothing was wrong—it was all I'd done for a month—but it was still. . . _wrong_ , for lack of a better term.

"Well, don't beat yourself up over this," I said. "It's just a concussion, in a few weeks I should be okay. Besides, if I hadn't gotten picked up by him, you probably wouldn't have wound up in a building."

With a scoff he said, _"You dunno that."_

"I'm pretty sure I'm right. Do you have my cell phone charger?"

If he noticed the deflection, he didn't press it. _"Ye'h, here ya are."_

The glove compartment popped open, producing the charger that plugged into the lighter. I sighed with relief and hooked my phone up, but it would be a few minutes before it turned on. That was fine with me, I wasn't looking forward to dealing with the influx of messages and missed calls.

Something else occurred to me as I thought about what I was going to tell everyone. Sure I had my own half-baked cover story. It was neat enough: explained where I went—though I would have to deal with explaining that my grandparents were fine and I'd actually run off to Vegas to drink away all my sorrows. I supposed I could live with people thinking I was a tad bit _unhinged_ and tell a lie If it meant keeping the government off my back.

What it also explained was why I was suddenly driving a brand new Pontiac Solstice. A little banged up, a little dusty, but still a nice car all the same.

But that. . .was assuming Jazz was sticking around. That he wasn't going to leave.

There was no guarantee for that.

"What now?" I asked once we were on the freeway. It had taken me that long just to find the nerve to ask.

_"Hm? I'm takin' ya back to y'house."_

I shook my head. "No, I mean, with you guys. The Autobots."

_"Optimus'n the others'll pr'y try ta hunt down all th' 'Cons. Bee's gon' stay'n protect Sam. I'll a'course stay wit'chu."_

He said it like it was the easiest thing to figure out, but I was certain it wasn't that simple. I took another deep breath and he fell silent, as if aware that I was trying to figure out how to say something. When I figured it out I said, "Really? But. . .why? You'd be allowed to, I mean?"

_"Ye'h, why wouldn' I?"_ he stopped to snicker. _"Or you tryin'a get rid'a me?"_

"No, nothing like that," I said too quickly.

_"Then what's up?"_

"It's just. . . ." I sighed and slouched in my seat. "The All Spark is destroyed, Megatron is dead, so, you don't really have any reason to stay anymore, right?"

_"See, I think yer tryin'a get rid'a me."_

"I'm not!" I insisted. "It's just—It's just that. . . ."

After waiting a moment for me to continue, he spoke up. _"Kat, you c'n tell me."_

Sure he said that, but I was afraid I'd come across as all wrong if I didn't find the right words. That I'd sound too clingy, too desperate. Maybe even embarrass myself depending on how he'd respond to my concerns.

Still, I had to take the chance.

"It's just that, I guess I've kind of gotten used to hanging out with you, I guess. And—and I just know you'll have to leave, eventually. So I just. . .want to be ready," I muttered, going with the tamer version of how I felt.

Telling him that I'd miss the hell out of him straight up might come across as weird.

The air buzzed with amusement and he said, _"Well, way I see it, leavin' ya would upset yer way of life. I did toss ya car in the bottom of a lake, so I owe it to ya t'stay."_

I raised my eyebrows. "You owe me one?"

_"'Sides, ya need protection. You'n Sam'll be targets. Starscream and other 'Cons are at large. They'll be seeking a way t'get us through y'all."_

They were all well and good as far as excuses went, but I found myself unsatisfied.

_"Course,"_ he continued, a hint of mirth in his voice, _"I kinda got used t'hanging out wit'cha too."_

It was enough to chase away my misgivings and I tried to hide the smile breaking out across my face—unsuccessfully.

_"So you stuck wit' me for a while."_

"Oh no, I think _you're_ stuck with _me_ for a while," I teased.

Jazz chuckled. _"Dunno how I'll manage. Ya hungry?"_

"I ate at the hospital. Why you always trying to feed me?" I asked, bemused. This was about the hundredth time he'd asked if I was hungry since we'd met.

He paused. _"I dunno. You kinda underweight. Don' want'cha getting sick."_

"Oh thanks, _Dad_ ," I groaned, rubbing at my sutures again. "When things go back to normal I'll start eating right again, I promise. Just stop scanning me!"

_"A'ight, deal,"_ he grunted.

As an afterthought I added, "Oh, but, can you stop at a pharmacy or something so I can get this prescription filled?" The painkillers were starting to wear off and it was a long drive.

_"Sho thang little miss."_

Smiling, I shifted in my seat to look out the window. It was another stupid road trip, but I was going home at last. Until the house sold and I picked somewhere to move, I probably wouldn't have to sit in the car too much. Knowing Jazz would stay with me was some of the best news I heard in a while, but I wondered how long it was going to last.

In my heart of hearts, I knew it was only a matter of time before he had to go. They had a world to rebuild, and Decepticons to hunt down. Earth wasn't their home. I didn't want to think about it, though. There was time, yet.

Maybe a little, maybe a lot, but there was _some_ time.


	20. Bright Again

The calls and messages were ridiculous. Most of them were still about the "prank" cop that had pulled me over, some were from my realtor, and others still were people wondering if I'd heard about crazy things that happened in Mission City.

If only they knew.

I was loathe to explain to people that I was in Vegas, so I opted for the most vague explanation of "hit by a drunk driver while I was out" if anyone asked why I had stitches. And why I couldn't remember the thing they told me seven minutes ago.

Thankfully, I didn't have to talk to a lot of people. I still had time off work for another few days by the time Jazz brought me home. For the most part, it was limited to Marie and my aunt and uncle—and the realtor, but that was mostly over the phone. If I had to go to the store or something, that was usually when I received the most questions from people around town.

My local physician was able to see me quickly and gave me the okay for work when my vacation was up. The stitches wouldn't be able to come out until a week later and I hadn't looked forward to going back. To pretending nothing out of the ordinary was going on.

Emphasis on hadn't.

When the day came that I had to return to work, everything was going wrong. My alarm didn't wake me up (Jazz acted as a wonderful backup, blaring his theft alarm much louder than any other car was capable) so I was in a complete rush. No time to really shower except for a quick rinse while brushing my teeth or do any of my hair and makeup.

Thankfully, I was one of the only people in the world with a fully functional, self-driving car. I had to choose between hair and face, so I washed my face and did up my hair, then gathered all the basics of my lengthy cosmetics repertoire and piled into Jazz.

"You shouldn' put on mascara in th' car," he teased.

Talking was difficult when I applied said mascara with my mouth wide open. Somehow I still managed to say, "Just. Don't. Go over. Any. Bumps." The rear-view mirror wasn't my big vanity, but at least natural sunlight was better than my bathroom incandescent bulbs.

"I'll do ma best."

"And I'll try not to get compact powder in your leather," I giggled, fumbling through my emergency kit for it.

Though Jazz' hologram had made me uncomfortable at first, it was a godsend right at that moment. I didn't have to risk looking like a damn fool putting on makeup while trying to drive at the same time. Now I only had to look like a regular fool putting on makeup in a moving car.

"That is appreciated."

It was lucky I had finished my mascara, or else I'd have jabbed myself in the eye. The sudden voice not coming from the radio had startled me so. I looked around, then stared at the hologram.

"What did you do?" I demanded.

The hologram turned its head and I leaned away from it. Then it opened its mouth and spoke. No emotion, none of the usual lip movement attributed to the syllables. Like I was watching a real life—and horrible—foreign dubbing. "Whatchu mean?"

My mouth bobbed and I pointed at the thing. "Okay, you cannot do that. That is the single creepiest thing I have ever witnessed."

"Ye'h I haven' gotten th' lip sync down yet."

"Jazz, please stop."

His hologram turned back to the road and he sniggered at me. "Sorry, just wanted to show you my new trick."

Sufficiently ruffled and disturbed, I straightened out my blouse and went back to adding the final touches to my face. "Well, I am marginally impressed, but that was really creepy. Why do you need to. . .program it to do all of that, anyway?"

Jazz pulled off the highway and said, "So you got someone t'talk to!"

"I have you to talk to."

"Ye'h bu' then ya look like ya talkin' t'yaself."

I rolled my eyes. "I'm in a car. I could be singing, or talking to someone else via a Bluetooth in my ear or something."

He hummed in thought, the sound vibrating his speakers. "Well, it also makes fo' a more convincin' cover! I c'n also project it up to fifteen feet away if there ain't any obstructions around. Haven't quite got it animated for walking, tho. . . ."

"Color me impressed, but why would you need to do that?" I asked.

The next sound he made was something akin to clearing his throat and he deflected my question altogether. "Bu' if you ain't worried 'bout seemin' like a crazy person talkin' t'yaself, then it cool wit' me. Jus' lemme know if ya ever need t'sit in the passenger seat and do more makeup!"

First I opened my mouth to ask my question again, but I decided to let it slide. Instead, I smiled and said, "I will, Jazz. Thanks for looking out for me."

"A'course, little miss," he said. "You my squishy."

"Your what?" I asked.

Suddenly he shuddered, chuckling nervously. "Ah. . .that's what we started callin' ya guys. Humans, I mean. Cuz ya—"

"We're kind of squishy?" I finished.

"Heh, ye'h. . . ." Jazz almost sounded fond. "Little too squishy if ya ask me, but y'all're cool peeps in any case."

We pulled into the parking lot and I climbed out with my back, then had a second thought and leaned back into the car. "You can't sit in the parking lot all day now that you have this hologram up, you know that right?"

The hologram turned to face me and the hairs on the back of my neck stood. At least he didn't make it speak when he said, "Why?"

"Because it looks like someone else drove me!"

"Oh. Right."

"Yeah."

I pulled back out and before I closed the door, Jazz called after me. "I'll pick ya up for ya lunch, then? Around noon'r one?"

"Nah, I'll get something from the vending machine."

When he gave me a disapproving silence in response, I sighed and said, "I've been doing that for years, Jazz. I'm not going to drop dead now. I have big plans for dinner, anyway."

And I actually did: I had just enough time to toss a roast in my mom's slow cooker before I left.

"I'mma hold ya to that," he grumbled. "See ya at five, then."

I grinned, patting the roof of his car before leaving. I was already running late. However, thanks to Jazz' fast driving, I was able to clock in exactly on the hour. Sharon walked back as I shoved my belongings into my locker.

"Kathryn! You made it!"

Slamming my locker shut, I turned to her and took a deep breath, then said, "Yeah. I've been away too long. Hope you guys did okay without me."

She tilted her head at me, smiling from ear to ear. "You're in a much better mood than the last time I saw you."

"Yeah?"

Sharon nodded. "Yeah, you've got this. . .glow about you. You don't look so down. Did something good happen on your vacation? Oh—wait, I see the stitches. What happened?"

With a grimace, I gently touched the spot she was talking about. "Nothing, an accident. This was the worst of it, really. But, I don't know, I guess it wasn't all that bad. Went on a road trip with a friend, saw some sights. . . ."

Got attacked by giant robots. . . .

"Great!" she said, clapping her hands in front of her. "It seems like it was exactly what you needed. I'm glad you're feeling better."

"Thank you, Sharon."

"I'll still put you on drive-through duty for now. If you're feeling up to it after lunch, we'll put you up on a front desk. Go get 'em," she said.

Nodding, I hurried out onto the floor. After everything I'd been through, it felt good having a regular day again. Working, talking with some good clients I hadn't spoken to in a long time, and the occasional menial task to keep me busy.

It kept me from idle thoughts. If I was left alone too long with my mind, I'd start suspecting the computers and check readers.

*:･ﾟ✧

Jazz was waiting for me at five o'clock sharp, but I didn't quite get back out into the parking lot until five or six minutes after.

"How was your first day back at work?" he asked soon I opened the door.

It shut once I was safely inside the not-Solstice and I sank into the seat with a sigh. "Pretty alright. Nice and quiet compared to everything else." Jazz pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward my house. "They wanted to send me home early, but I've been going stir-crazy just sitting around at home. What did you do all day?"

His engine purred and he weaved effortlessly through the minimal traffic. "Drove around. Scoped out the area. Spoke wit' Optimus a bit."

I grimaced. "Well, I'm glad. I feel so bad, seeing you sit and rust in my driveway."

He vibrated under me. "Naw don' worry 'bout it. Got nothin' else t'do. 'Sides, th'others don' need me t'babysit 'em."

Guilt still nibbled at my gut. "Well now that you have that hologram, just go for a ride every now and again if you want. I'm sure no one would notice. And the Decepticons aren't going to strike while they're recovering from Mission City, right?"

"Not worth the risk."

Sighing, I decided to drop it.

It was like seeing a majestic animal locked in a tiny cage. As much as I enjoyed Jazz' company—and I really enjoyed his company—he wasn't a domestic pet. If I couldn't handle sitting at the house doing nothing, then he had to be miserable. Sure he hid it well, but on our scarce outings he always drove so fast, seemed too eager to take me wherever I wanted to go.

Almost every night before I started work (early mornings and all), we'd go out to the middle of nowhere and he'd transform and we'd just talk. Walk around and he'd show off, and it seemed like he enjoyed that quite a bit. However, I still couldn't help but wonder if it was enough.

After all, he was a giant robot who was used to seeing action, and he was away from all of his friends, his comrades. I felt like I was depriving him of something essential. Whenever I brought it up, he always denied any issues. He insisted he didn't mind driving me around town for all of my errands or to go to work. Jazz was an absolute pleasure, but I felt like I was stifling him.

"What are the others up to?" I asked after a moment.

Jazz said, "They been helpin' track down 'Cons. Optimus also made a transmission few days ago, tellin' other Autobots scattered 'round tha' they c'n come here fo' asylum."

"Wait really? What did he say?"

A recording played over the radio I leaned forward, strangely eager. "With the All Spark gone, we cannot return life to our planet. And fate has yielded its reward: a new world to call home. We live among its people now, hiding in plain sight, but watching over them in secret. Waiting, protecting. I have witnessed their capacity for courage, and though we are worlds apart, like us, there's more to them than meets the eye. I am Optimus Prime, and I send this message to any surviving Autobots taking refuge among the stars. We are here. We are waiting."

"A new home? You're all going to stay here on Earth?" I asked, my heart pumping a little faster. I'd always expected that they'd leave eventually, to return home, but if what Optimus was true and they couldn't save their planet, then they'd need somewhere to go. . . .

And if they were staying on Earth, That meant Jazz would be sticking around. Elation washed over me, but I managed to stay neutral.

Almost as soon as I had those thoughts, another wave of guilt hit me.

It was wrong to be happy that they couldn't go home.

"So long as y'all allow it. Optimus wants ya gov'ment t'know that this still ya planet, we ain't tryin'a take it over, just wanna share it wit'ya and keep it an' all on it safe from the 'Cons."

I nodded and asked, "So more Autobots are going to come, then?"

"Pro'lly.

"Will I get to meet them?" I asked, hiding a smile.

"Maybe, if ya want."

Leaving it at that, I asked my next question. "What about the Decepticons?"

"Wit' Megatron gone, Starscream'll be the leader. Likely they'll come, hide, try'n get ol' Megs back from the gov'ment. We'll have our hands full fo' a while."

A comforting thought.

Despite how much I wanted to let Jazz off somewhere secluded, it was the middle of the day and Jennifer was going to be waiting for me at the house. It was officially on the market.

When we made it home, she was already in the yard tacking in the "For Sale" sign by the sidewalk. Jennifer brushed her hands against her pants and strode over to greet me as I climbed out of the car, her hand outstretched.

"Kathryn dear! You're looking weh—oh. Your head. . . ? What happened there?" she asked as I shook her hand, her expression cast with concern.

I brushed my fingertips against the stitches and made a face. "An accident."

Jennifer clicked her tongue against her teeth. "Oh that's right, I remember you saying something. I didn't think it would be so bad! At least that was all that happened. Must've been so scary, after everything with—well, after everything. I'm glad you're okay. When will they get removed?"

I did the calculations in my head. "Couple more days, I think. I can't remember the exact appointment." At least I had it written down somewhere, though.

She gave me a sympathetic hum. "Well like I said, at least you're okay, and you got a new car out of it!" she pointed out, gliding over to Jazz, her hands raised slightly. She gave a small squeal and ran her fingers along the hard-top convertible roof.

Irritation knotted in my stomach and I tried to finagle my way between them. "You like hi—it?"

The realtor dropped her hands to her side and turned to face me. "It's very lovely! A rental, or did you buy it?"

"It's not a rental," I said, slowly edging away from Jazz and trying to lead her back toward the house. She wouldn't stop walking around him, though, admiring his sleek design. I wasn't much of a car person, but even I knew I probably wouldn't have been able to afford it on my own. "Mine was totaled in the crash, so I bought this with the insurance."

"Well, that is exciting. How does it drive?"

A faint smile tugged at my lips. "Like a dream."

"Well I'm happy something good came of it!" she said, turning and motioning toward the house. "Why don't we sit down and go over your schedule? If you have a spare key, I'd like to get one so I can show people into the house when you're away."

"Sure thing." I lead Jennifer to the front door, stepping aside so she could enter first. She prattled on the entire time, but I stopped paying attention and glanced over my shoulder at Jazz. He sat silently in my driveway, unmoving. I smiled, then gave him a tiny wave before stepping over the threshold to deal with my realtor.

*:･ﾟ✧

A horn's wail cut through my fitful sleep. My eyes popped open and I looked around, frozen to the bed for a moment as I tried to decide what was shadow and what was furniture. Heart racing, breathing shallow, I sat up as tears started to run down my face.

Jazz honked again, three times in quick succession. I swallowed hard and wiped at my eyes, trying to remember what had caused them.

One last honk, long and urgent.

I gathered my wits and took one last look around my room before I threw the blankets off my legs and stood. At last, my heart beat started to stabilize, but I was still jittery and noticed that my knees shook as I took quiet steps around the bed to the door. My hands trembled.

As I made my way through the dark hallway to the front, I tried to remember what the nightmare was about. I could hardly recall any of it—any of it besides the horrible twisting in my gut and the residual terror it had caused me. There was something there, but it was vague. I hadn't been able to run, or scream. Something big, something mean. . . .

It was gone. All I knew was that it had been so vivid.

The last stretch of space made me pass behind my couch to the door, but I stopped when I caught sight of the TV. My steps faltered and in my chest my heart started again.

Even though it made the last few feet to the door last forever, I took one slow step after another, my eyes never leaving the television. It wasn't on, it didn't move, but I couldn't help but feel terrified by it.

Soon as my hand touched the knob, I threw the door open, slammed it shut, and trotted on the balls of my bare feet over to Jazz. I slid into the seat and drew my knees up to my chest.

"What's wrong?" I asked, still kind of breathless.

"I should be th'one askin' that."

I shrugged and rested my cheek on my kneecaps. "I don't know what you mean."

He huffed through his vents and started the engine. Before he said anything more, he pulled out of the driveway and headed out of the neighborhood.

"Don' play me, little miss. I know you was a havin' a nightmare."

"And how would you know that?" I muttered, uncurling from my ball to sit properly.

Jazz didn't answer right away. "I might'a been monitoring ya vitals," he admitted.

Eyes closed, I groaned and rubbed at my forehead. "Jazz, what have I asked you time and time again? It's just so weird. . . ."

"Research shows tha' nightmares're common after trauma."

"Research?" I interjected.

Ignoring me, he continued. "So I just been keepin' track'a ya vitals while ya sleep. Make sure ya don'. . .like. . .get too worked up. I don' like—I don' like seein' ya scared."

Any lingering irritation fled with his confession. I gave him a fond, if slightly patronizing, smile and said, "I do appreciate that, Jazz. It's just a little strange, is all. Feels kind of. . .invasive? I don't know, it's hard to explain. No one else I know can do that."

We came to a stop outside the cemetery, away from the road and the groundskeeper's route. He let me out while he consolidated his thoughts and transformed.

"Cuz I ain't human, little miss," he said at last, taking a seat and motioning for me to sit on his knee. I did so, unable to look him in the face. He was right, after all. "It's common practice t'monitor each other—and our enemies. Though we usually put up defenses if we don' want an opponent t'catch a weakness're somethin'."

I nodded absently, my hands in my lap. Gooseflesh prickled at my bare legs; I'd been sleeping in shorts and a tank top when I'd woken, and the night was chilly. "Right, I get that. I'm sorry, it doesn't really bother me I guess, it's just. . . ."

"New?" he offered.

"Yeah. Strange, disconcerting. Never had anyone constantly monitoring my health before," I chuckled, crossing my arms over my chest.

He lifted my gaze with his finger under my chin and grinned. "I'll try not t'make a big deal 'bout it anymore unless you in a real danger t'ya health, mmk? I don' wanna make ya uncomfortable, quite th'opposite. And I wanna be able to wake ya from nightmares."

That elicited a real giggle. "Okay, I can get behind that."

"You wanna talk 'bout it at all?" he asked.

"Nah," I said with a shrug. "I don't really remember it. Just a lot of the usual, probably. Weird, jumbled scenes of being chased or shot at or something."

Jazz shifted his weight a bit. "Well, it was jus' a dream. You in good hands."

I chuckled and pulled his hand in front of me, examining the digits and joints. "I don't know, seems like they could use a good waxing to me. . . ."

With a grunt, he looked at his other hand and hummed. "Yeah, you pr'y right."

Standing, I said, "Well tomorrow I'll pick up some car soap or something and some wax and look up how to wash a car on Youtube and buff ya up real good."

"Kathryn. . . ."

Grimacing, I lifted my hand. "Yeah, yeah, sorry. Phrasing."

He snickered and held out his hand. "Ya ready t'go back home and sleep some more?"

Giving his hand a long look, I sighed and took it, bracing myself. "I do feel better now. Kinda wide awake but I'll manage."

"I could drive ya 'round the block a few times?"

"I'm not a baby," I giggled, still tense.

Grinning, he pulled me into him and when I landed, it was in his driver seat. Slightly dizzy. I didn't know why he loved doing that so much, but I decided to let him have him fun. Maybe he was just showing off or something.

Maybe he just liked scaring me a little.

It did get my heart pounding—in a good way.

"You're just so proud of that move, aren't you?"

"Sho' am."

We shared a small laugh as he headed back to my house. I slouched in my seat and settled in, forehead resting against the window as I watched the headstones pass by. Even though I had been to the cemetery twice now since the funeral, I hadn't seen their graves. Or even thought about it. Sure the first time I'd almost been run over by a police cruiser and introduced to aliens.

And just then, we had only been close to the cemetery, not really in it.

"Wait, Jazz. Go back, please."

Jazz halted and started to back up. "Back where?"

"To the cemetery."

He obliged without saying anything and popped open the gate with a slight nudge. It made an awful racket and I winced, hoping there wasn't anyone on duty or anything. "Is the groundskeeper here? Can do that kind of scan?"

After a brief pause, he gave me the affirmative. "No one around."

I steered him around the dirt path. The way was seared into my memory; following closely behind the Hearst. Police detail. The entire town trudging along after us. I took a deep breath, but I didn't feel the need to expunge the thoughts from my mind.

When he parked, I told him to transform and follow me.

"Watch your step, please," I requested, my voice hardly above a whisper even though Jazz was sure there wasn't anyone around.

His steps were careful as he followed my lead. I kept my eyes on the plaques, looking for the names. In the dark, it was hard to remember the exact place they were, but I wasn't about to ask Jazz to broadcast our location by turning on his headlights.

But I found their plaque. Stand ins until the gravestones I had commissioned were finished. It hadn't been cheap, but it was worth it. Jazz stopped a few feet away, giving me space. He fell silent as I kneeled before them, my hands folded neatly on top of my legs. I took a few deep breaths, opened my mouth a few times, then I was finally able to speak. It felt so cliché.

"Hey, Mom. Hey, Dad. I uh, I know I haven't been here since the uh, since the funeral. It's just, it's been hard, y'know? Really hard. But, that's not what I'm here for tonight," I said, proud that I was able to keep my voice straight.

A week or so ago, I would have already been in tears. Having Jazz close by was giving me some god-like strength to make it through.

I turned toward him and motioned him over. When he hesitated, I made a stronger gesture. At last he took the two steps that brought him over and crouched at my back. I smiled and shimmied over as if to make room next to me, though he never would have fit.

"Mom, Dad, this is Jazz. . .he's a giant robot man from another planet. Though, you already knew that, didn't you Dad?"

Jazz lifted his hand with a degree of uncertainty. "Sup."

Now that he was so close to me, I realized how ridiculous I must look talking to a slab of metal welded to a piece of marble. I sighed and rubbed my face. "Sorry. I. . . I just wish they could have met you. Except maybe Dad. . .he might have tried to shoot you or something."

Though I chuckled without humor, Jazz had gone quiet again. I could feel his eyes on my back.

"I wish they could meet the. . .the, mech, right?" I glanced over my shoulder to catch him nodding his head. "Yeah, the mech that was taking such good care of me. You wouldn't have shot him then, would you've Dad? If you knew he'd saved your little girl?"

A pressure formed behind my eyes, a headache brewing there from repressed tears. They prickled at the corner of my eyes and burned. "I wish you could have met them. Mom—Mom would have given you cookies or something. She wouldn't have known what else to do. You would have—you would have really liked her."

He held his hand against my back and I leaned against him. "And Dad. . .Dad always had an answer for everything. He was. . .he was reasonable. You two—I'm sure you would have gotten along, after. . .after we told him you were good."

I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and sniffed. "I—I wish they were still here. Everything would have been so different."

Jazz scooped me up and sat, holding me against his chest.

My lip quivered and I said, "I miss them—" The words were the final defense. The dam broke and I choked out a sob before I could muffle it behind my hand. "So, so much, Jazz. It hurts, it still hurts how much I miss them."

"I know, little miss," he said in a soothing tone, encasing me with his arms and trapping my against his chest. Careful, of course, not to crush me against his unyielding metal armor.

Somehow I was able to keep myself from becoming a blubbering mess and forced myself under control. I frantically dabbed at my eyes, brushing tears away with my wrist and heel of my palms. I coughed a few times and tried to stand, but Jazz still held me.

"Sorry. I'm, I'm sorry. I fell apart there for a second, but I'm okay now."

Still he held me to him with both arms.

"Jazz. Jazz I'm good."

"Nope, we gonna hug it out," he murmured. "Hugs fix it all. Sorry I ain't soft, though."

A small smile crept on my face and I pat his chest. "They do. I do feel better. I just wanted to show you this spot, pay them a visit. . .I'm sorry. I didn't mean to have a mini break down. Really I thought I'd cried all I could about them."

"S'understandable, little miss. You loved 'em."

"A lot," I muttered.

"I'm glad you brought me to see 'em. Wish I coulda met 'em, too," he said, finally setting me down on the ground. "But we need t'get ya back t'bed. You got work."

I pursed my lips in a pout. "I don't wanna go to work."

He chuckled and said, "Well you gotta" before carefully walking back to the road and transforming. I sighed and followed after him, climbing into the driver's seat. He pulled around the path and back out of the gate.

Despite all of the previous theatrics, a burdensome weight had been lifted off my chest. The pain of losing my parents was still there, but I felt much better than I had been the month of their death.

Even for the past week.

Throughout the short drive home, I spent it with my forehead against the window and eyes closed. Jazz said nothing for the duration, leaving me alone with my pleasant thoughts—of which I hadn't had many in a while.


	21. My Favorite Thing

 

"How about this. . .collection of vases?"

I glanced over at Marie from where I sat on the couch, sorting my mom's various knick-knacks into groups of "get rid of", "keep", and "undecided". She was standing at our armoire, looking through the cupboard and jackets. She'd found all my mom's spare flower vases.

"Um, yeah we'll try to sell those. Add 'em to the pile."

She collected them all and put them in one of the boxes by the folded tables I'd borrowed from a neighbor. With it was a pile of excess linens and collectable mugs that Dad always drank coffee out of. A lot of supplies from Dad's office, some unused scrapbooking miscellanea, and various other junk that I didn't want to straight throw away.

Marie stood in front of me and brushed the dust off on her shorts. "Anything else?"

Sighing, I picked up the things I'd been messing with and stood up. "Nah, I don't expect to move a lot of this as it. This was more of an excuse to hang out with you than anything."

"Aw, you didn't have to set all this up for little old me!"

"Yeah I know, but. . .you know."

My friend giggled and helped me carry out the folding tables one by one. Her son was still finishing his nap in my room, so we had to work quick and set up. It would become a million times harder if Marie had to wrangle her baby.

"However," she said while we set up the table, "I'm not sure why. You seem like you're doing a million times better than you were when I saw you last."

"Do I?"

"Yeah, girl. What happened in Vegas, eh? You meet a guy and get laid?"

I choked on the air I was breathing and coughed out, "What? No!"

She lifted her hands in defeat and grinned at me. "Alright, I get it. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. But you can tell me! I won't tell a soul!"

Rolling my eyes, I gave her a little push when I passed her to pick up the vases to put on the table. "Nothing happened in Vegas! Except the car accident." I paused to think about it and chewed on my bottom lip before saying, "Well, but—no, no nothing."

Marie jumped on the slip like a hungry tiger. She scrambled around the table and grabbed both of my shoulders, her face bright and excited.

"You did!" she squealed. "You met someone!"

Face burning, I pulled away from her and busied myself with straightening objects. "Did you put the signs up on the corners?"

Not only was it a horrible attempt at deflecting the conversation, but Marie didn't fall for it. She turned me back around to face her. "Forget the signs! But yes, I did. Don't change the subject! Who is he? What's his name?"

"There's no one!" I insisted, glancing to my empty driveway. Where Jazz usually sat.

After searching my face, she groaned and dropped her arms. "Fine, don't tell me. But you better spill at some point!"

"There's nothing to spill!" I called over my shoulder.

"Where are you going? We got all the stuff out."

I stopped at my doorway and indicated inside. "I left the TV on, and I wanted to check on Mikey. You got the rest of this?"

She put her hands on her hips and huffed. "No, Kat, I don't think I do. You have too much junk."

Ignoring her sarcasm, I walked inside. "I'm sure you'll manage."

The news was playing on the TV—or rather, an advertisement for the news. I picked up the remote from the armchair and went to turn it off, but paused when I caught the tail-end of the commercial: a picture of the Hoover Dam next to the anchorwoman's head.

"Toon in at five to learn more."

"Wait—wait! Learn more about what?" I demanded, shaking the remote at the television. Fat lot of good it did; the news preview was over and the program had returned.

Frustrated, I turned off the TV and grabbed my phone from the coffee table. At the same time, I made good on my word to Marie and tip-toed through the hallway to my bedroom while I pulled up the Google app on my phone.

My door was closed, but I listened carefully for any baby noises. I searched for the Hoover Dam and touched the news tab to see what I could find, only to bring up a bunch of vague articles on how a stray jet had attacked it, blowing up several structures and nearly flooding the entire place. From what I read, the dam held fast and it was a bunch of nearby buildings and some tourists who were caught in it.

A stray jet.

That had to be Starscream.

I forgot about Mikey for a moment and put my hand to my head. Jazz had left three days prior to meet with the other Autobots on a mission. He'd said it would just be a routine thing, and I was upset because I'd only been back to work for two weeks and already had to call out again.

He'd promised it would be quick.

But I still hadn't heard anything.

Mikey interrupted panic with a fussy sound and I put my phone away. His fussing turned into whining, and then into crying, so I opened the door and plucked him off my bed with a few calming words. He continued to sob big crocodile tears until I brought him to his mom.

"What's a matter little monster?" she cooed, cradling him against her chest. "Did Kat's big scary face frighten you?"

"I'm sure that's probably it," I quipped.

"Aw, well Mommy's here now." He had already stopped crying, and she put him down in her lawn chair with some toys before she helped me set up the last table, the one we decided to put all the extra gently-used towels on.

For the time being I decided that the big furniture would be the last to go, if and when my house sold. The "for sale" sign had been missing a few fliers, and Jennifer had assured me that it was posted on all the websites her company associated with. It just might take time, she'd told me. I had to be patient, that was all.

One thing she insisted on telling me was that I didn't need to live in the house to sell it. I could move out and continue on as I wanted. If I didn't want to deal with all the furniture, I could sell it as a furnished home for some extra cash.

However, I kind of wanted to keep some of the furniture, but I hadn't been able to think about that thing between getting back to work, spending time with Jazz, selling the house, and dealing with the government calling me to find out if I required grief or trauma counseling. I considered it sometimes, wondering if it would help stop some of the nightmares.

Sector Seven hadn't bothered calling me, and for that I was grateful. That was one less thing to worry about, especially now that Jazz was already going back on missions.

The last table was set up, so I went back inside to fix Marie and I some lemonade, and we sat down to wait. She spoke on about her job and sometimes pestered me for more information on my Vegas getaway. I was barely participating, nodding and muttering nonsense at the right moments.

An hour passed and Jazz was still worrying me. I'd already been a little worried about him, but now—now Starscream had attacked a major landmark and Jazz was nowhere to be seen.

Or heard from. We really needed to come up with a system. Could he call my cell?

"Kat?"

Marie's voice cut through my brooding and I started, glancing over at her. She was watching me with her head tilted, brow furrowed. I took a breath and glanced over at my empty driveway. He'd come back at night so no one noticed my car park itself, but I couldn't help but hope.

With him gone, possibly dead, every car that passed by on the road was suspect. Every plane flying overhead was a possible threat. I couldn't even help the side-long glances I gave the radio Marie brought playing soft music next to us. That was definitely the clincher; I might need to take up the therapy offers after all.

Rubbing my forehead I said, "I'm sorry. I. . .lost concentration, what were you saying?"

My friend gave me a sympathetic smile and repeated her question. "What are you going to do with the junk that won't sell?" She was bouncing her son on her knee and he had a giant grin on his face the entire time, gurgling.

"Donate it, probably," I replied. "There's a Goodwill in Billings. I'll just drive up there."

Mikey's smile opened too wide and his pacifier fell from his mouth. Marie picked it up off the ground, wiped it on her shorts, and popped it back between his lips before he could fuss over it. "Probably a good idea. Have you put any of it up on Craig's List?"

"No," I scoffed. "I don't want to deal with no-shows and people trying to barter via text. If I don't get rid of it in this garage sale, then I'm probably never going to get rid of it."

She shrugged. "Yeah I guess. Are you feeling alright? Is your concussion acting up?"

At her words, I touched my fingertips to the scar over my brow. "No, the doctor says I'm fine. What makes you think that?"

"You were a better mood earlier, but now you're all sad-looking."

"Oh. Um, I just saw something about the Mission City thing on the TV when I went inside earlier. Kind of bummed me out," I lied, worrying my fingers.

Marie groaned. "Oh I know, that's just awful. I hope the rebuilding is going okay. I don't know what I would do if something like that happened to me. What can you even do? It's kind of scary to think about, y'know?"

I nodded, still staring at my hands. "Yeah, it's. . .pretty scary to think about."

Before we could continue, someone pulled up to the curb in a large, mud-covered truck. I straightened in my lawn chair, instantly on edge. It was impossible not to recognize the giant pickup with his lift kit and mounted lights. Marie shot me a look, sensing my change in attitude.

"Who's that?" she asked.

Lennox climbed out of the driver's seat and I stood, looking around for Jazz. When he didn't drive up behind Ironhide, panic pierced me. The army captain was wearing his fatigues and I wondered if he owned any other kind of clothes. Most likely it meant he was here for business instead of pleasure.

"Hunk alert," Marie whispered, her voice straining to stay low. "I'm sitting here, all married. . . ."

I wasn't in the mood to humor her. I swallowed and held my hand up to her. "He's married, too. Stay here and I'll talk to him."

"Kat, what's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing," I muttered, functioning somewhat on autopilot. I left her in her lawn chair and walked stiffly to meet him halfway up the driveway, trying not to run.

_Jazz, Jazz, Jazz, Jazz. . . ._

All I could imagine was the fiery scene that I'd watched on TV for all of five seconds. Lennox, coming in person to tell me the horrible news. But I cast those thoughts aside, unwilling to let my imagination get the best of me.

There was a perfectly reasonable explanation, and I was going to find it.

Though he opened his mouth to speak, I cut him off before he could utter a single syllable.

"What are you doing here, Captain? Where is he, is everything okay?" I whispered, glancing back at Marie. She was half-standing above her chair, concerned, but turned to corral her son when he started wandering too far.

Lennox raised his hands and spoke. "Relax, Ms. Walker. He's fine. Just spending some quality time with Ratchet, getting a tune-up. Had to do some rough stuff."

"Like what? I saw the news about the dam. Was it Star—"

The captain cleared his throat and indicated with a nod that we had company. I took a breath and tried to compose myself.

Marie walked up next to me and asked, "Kat, who's your friend?"

"Good afternoon, ma'am," he said, flashing Marie a friendly smile.

"Afternoon. . .sir." She shouldered her child and looked to me for help.

Remembering my manners, I turned and motioned toward each of them in turn. "Sorry. Marie, this is Captain William Lennox. Captain, this is my best friend Marie and her son Mikey. Lennox. . .um, he knew my dad."

I frowned and hid my face, Lennox's incredulous expression burning into me.

She shifted her son's weight to shake Lennox' hand. "Oh, well it's very nice to meet you, sir."

Lennox nodded and straightened his shirt. I wondered if he was hot under all of those clothes—I was wearing shorts and a tank top and I was pretty warm. He said, "The pleasure's all mine. You have a beautiful child, my daughter's about that age."

"Well thank you. You hear that, Mikey?" she cooed, making the baby face Lennox. He reached out a chubby hand and Lennox let him grab his finger, grinning.

"So what brings you here?" I asked, eager to figure out where Jazz was.

Clearing his throat, he stood at ease and said, "Just came to talk with you. Mind if I borrow Kathryn for a bit?" he said to Marie with a disarming smile.

Marie giggled and moved back to her seat. "I don't know, we're pretty busy here."

Part of me expected a tumbleweed to blow through, or a cricket to chirp.

"So busy," I muttered.

Lennox held his hand out and I led the way down my driveway to Ironhide. I leaned against his door and crossed my arms over my chest.

"Hey Ironhide," I said, keeping my voice low. "So—he's okay?"

"Oh yeah," Lennox said, dismissing my concern with an errant wave. "Guy's a rock. And to answer your next question, yes it was Starscream that attacked."

"You said he was with Ratchet, did he get hurt?" I tried to keep my tone neutral but failed.

Shaking his head, Lennox said, "Not really, just complications from Mission City. He was in a hurry to get you home so he skipped out on some repairs. Ratchet wasn't too happy about that. He should be back in a couple days."

Relief washed over me, followed my chagrin. "Mikaela told me he let Ratchet patch him up before he came to get me."

"Well, that was a lie. It's all good now, though. I didn't just come here to tell you this."

"Okay, then what _did_ you come to tell me?"

He sighed and glanced over at Marie, but she was busy keeping her baby entertained. He looked back to me and said, "It's about the attack. In light of recent events, we're trying to get a new task force together, and we have an offer for you and the other two."

"What offer?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

"Sector Seven has been disbanded and—"

"Really?" The thought was enticing. "That's that awful group that kidnapped Sam, Mikaela, and Bumblebee, right? Did they get shut down for being assholes?"

Lennox chuckled and shook his head. "Not really. Secretary of Defense shut 'em down because they touched something they shouldn't have and that's what attracted Starscream. He leveled their Nevada bunker and got a lot of people killed. So they were shut down for being generally inept against the things they were supposed to be experts on."

I swallowed the lump in my throat and looked down at my feet, worrying the hem of my shirt. "My dad was a member, allegedly."

"Yeah?" I nodded and he whistled. "Well, it's a good thing you didn't get roped in."

"Can say that again. They all certainly seemed like a bunch of hot-headed weirdos." I closed my eyes and rubbed my brow. "Dad had his moments no doubt, but I guess I don't want to think he was associated with jerks like them."

He nodded. "S-7 certainly let the power go to their heads. But I'm sure your dad was one of the good ones if you're his daughter."

"Thanks," I murmured, blushing.

"Anyway," he continued. "That's why the Autobots were called in. They chased off Starscream, but not before Barricade and an unknown Con slipped in during his raze and took Megatron's body."

Shocked, I almost couldn't find my voice and barely managed to croak out, "What?"

"Yup. Plan was to dump all the bad guys' bodies in the ocean. The helicopter disappeared—Blackout, I think they called it—so the only bodies we have now are the minesweeper and the tank."

"How does a helicopter _disappear_?" I demanded.

Lennox sniffed. "Dunno, must not have been as dead as we thought, but it was on Sector Seven, so just another notch in their gravestone. It's not quite shut down yet, but we're busy collecting files and sending out severance checks."

It was nice to know their incompetence was being recognized.

"So where do I come into all this? Isn't this classified, why are you telling me?" I felt kind of bad for assaulting him with so many questions.

"Jazz'd just tell you anyway, wouldn't he?"

I snickered. "Yeah, I suppose he would."

"Anyway, we've been fighting to convince the Pentagon that the Autobots can be trusted. With the Decepticons at large, we'll need their help to track and terminate them, so a human-Autobot alliance is in the works. They're a little wary, but overall it's been agreed to."

"They'd be stupid not to," I chimed in.

Amused, he continued. "It's largely going to be a military task force. We're still working on the details, but no one's closer to the Autobots than you, Sam and Mikaela. So—we'd like to offer you a position, once it's been established."

I stared at him for a second and then inhaled. "Wait—you want to give me a position in a military group or whatever? I'm a banker. From Montana. I couldn't possibly."

"Well, you wouldn't have to do any fighting if you didn't want to. If anything you'd have more of a liaison position, or we could find something else for you. The less people know about these guys, the better, so we're trying to recruit as many people who already know about their existence as possible," he explained, indicating toward me with a hand.

It still didn't make any sense. "I don't have _any_ training, though. I can't be a diplomat, or a soldier. I wouldn't even know what to say or do. . .I'm not even really sure what you're offering me."

He rubbed the back of his head. "Well, yeah, no, I know. . .the details are going to be fuzzy for a while until we can figure it all out. I wish I had more for you, I just wanted to gauge your interest and see if I could put you on the list for a potential recruit."

"What can I do that you can't do yourself?"

Lennox glanced between me and Ironhide, then extended his arm. "Walk with me a bit. You live in a lovely town."

I narrowed my eyes, but straightened up and turned to my friend. "Marie! Think you can handle the garage sale for a little while longer? I'm going to show Lennox around town real quick. It'll only be a few minutes."

She set Mikey in the grass before yelling back. "Sure, but you better hurry before I'm overwhelmed by the sheer number of customers!"

That was the cue for another tumbleweed or loud breeze, but neither happened. I waved back to her and said, "Thank you, I'll only be a little while. Twenty minutes maybe," I said. Before we left, I took another wistful look down the street, but no silver cars came driving by.

We were silent until we were a few blocks away, then Lennox glanced over his shoulder. "Okay, he probably can't hear us."

"Who?"

"Ironhide."

Brow furrowed, I asked, "Why would that matter?"

He scratched his forehead and said, "Didn't want to risk him contacting Jazz and telling him I'm bullying you or anything."

"And _what_ would you be bullying me for?" I asked, even more suspicious than I was before.

Lennox made eye contact and his expression hardened. "I'm going to be honest with you, Kathryn. The Autobots are hurting. There are a lot more Decepticons running around on Earth than we originally thought. Optimus, Ironhide, and Ratchet can't handle it all on their own. They need Jazz and Bumblebee until Optimus' reinforcements arrive."

"Bumblebee? I don't understand, I thought he was with you guys?"

"He was," Lennox said. "But he wants to be with Sam and protect him and his family. Sam might not be in trouble anymore because the All Spark was destroyed, but he still wants to stay with him in case the Decepticons try to use him against them."

I swallowed to soothe my suddenly dry throat. "And Jazz—"

"Isn't going to leave your side for the exact same reasons. Maybe ever. Ironhide complains all the time about how much he talks about you."

"You and Ironhide hang out a lot?" I asked, hiding my embarrassment by turning my head.

He played willingly into my deflection. "He drives me around a little more than the others do. Don't tell him I told you, but I think he's taken a liking to Annabelle."

"Your daughter?"

Lennox was a little too eager to pull out his phone and show me all the pictures his wife had taken. "Yeah, I finally got to see her a few weeks ago. She's growing up so fast! It's been great being state-side again."

The thought of Ironhide playing with a baby brought a smile to my face. "So you told your wife about all this, then?"

"Enough, yeah. Can't keep secrets from her, y'know. But that's all beside the point." Lennox put his phone back in his pocket. "I'm offering you a way to stay with Jazz. You'd be paid well and be safe from any danger, too."

I gnawed on the inside of my cheek. "He went on this mission for you guys no problem."

"Yes," Lennox said, bowing his head, "and he's been worried about you the entire time. One day he might be in a rush, one day he might get sloppy."

"One day he might get hurt, or get someone else hurt," I sighed, rubbing my face.

"I'm not going to make you do anything you don't want to. All I can do is try to convince you. Your other option is return to your own life. The government will give you a sum of money in exchange for your silence and anything else you might need. But the Autobots need him." he finished.

Sighing, I put my hand to my forehead. "No, no. I can't just, sit around and mooch off taxpayers' money. Whatever you pay me I'd want to earn."

He nodded. "Yeah, sure. Like I said, once the team is decided, we'll know what positions we need to be filled and you can have your pick. Any schooling you might need will be taken care of, you could become a soldier and go to boot camp, whatever."

Something as simple as the phrase "boot camp" made my heart stop and I shook my head. "No, no I'm not cut out to be a soldier."

"That's not what some of these recordings the Autobots intercepted say," he said, a wide grin breaking out across his features. "But I'm sure we could work something out."

Coming to a stop I gave him a terrified look. "What recordings?"

"Oh, just some crazy girl driving an SUV into Megatron, or helping pull someone out from under rubble. Climbing down a building—that's all we've collected so far. Got a few of Sam running down the street with the cube or falling off that building, Mikaela driving a tow truck with Bumblebee shooting things from the back. Lot of video of the Cybertronians."

I scoffed and my face burned. "Stupid people and their damn phones. . . ."

"So you've all proven you've got the stuff. I'm sure you'd find a place somewhere in the task force, even if it's filing papers. Every group needs its pencil pushers."

That also sounded less than ideal, but better than putting myself in the middle of a fight again.

"I don't know, Lennox, this is all so. . .sudden."

Lennox stopped and turned me to face him. "I get it, Kathryn. You're from a small town. A month ago you worked for a bank and then all this shit happened. But the Autobots _need_ their first lieutenant for this war. There are more Autobots coming, and Optimus will need help organizing them and tracking down 'cons."

I shrugged out of his grasp and lifted my hands defensively. "I _know_ that! I think about it every single time I see Jazz stuck in my driveway or in the parking lot at work. He's not cut out for this life and I _know_ it. It eats me up inside _every day_. But I don't know what to do! This is all I know!"

"Like I said, your other option is to let him go," Lennox suggested. He said it so nonchalantly, like he was suggesting I get a haircut, but I reeled like he hit me.

Let him go? Relieve him of his duty and tell him to forget about me? My mouth fell open and distress held my tongue. That wouldn't work. He would never agree, not if he really thought I was in danger. Besides all that—

My face fell and I wrapped my arms around myself. "I can't. I'm. . .I'm too scared."

Lennox sighed and put a hand on my shoulder. "I can imagine you are. I don't trust my toaster sometimes. And I don't really think Jazz would go anyway. He's scared _for_ you. But I'm sure you'd compromise."

I nodded and brushed my eyes before the tears could start.

A month ago, when we first met, I would have jumped at the opportunity to ditch him. He'd been a frightening alien robot at the time, trying to whisk me away from the life I knew.

It wasn't like that anymore. We'd had so much time to get to know each other. I'd grown accustomed to his voice, his presence. He was the type of personality I liked to associate with and he never failed to make me smile. There was no way I would be able to part ways with him now, pretend he didn't exist. Maybe there was a legit danger from other Decepticons, but I preferred Jazz' company more than I preferred _people's_ company. If he had been a man—

My heart throbbed and I didn't dare finish that thought.

If I declined, I couldn't ask Jazz to stick around and leave the other Autobots just for me. It didn't matter if he wanted to stay by my side, it was for his own good, and the good of his team. If anything happened to Optimus, they would need him.

We couldn't both be selfish. If he wanted to stay by my side, then I would give up my comfort for his because god dammit I wanted him to stay with me too.

"Kathryn?" Lennox murmured.

I twitched my head toward him, momentarily surprised, then settled. "Sorry, I'm thinking." I'd almost forgotten he was there.

"It's up to you, Kathryn," he urged, leaning forward. "If you need time, you have my number."

Though I knew the answer deep in my gut, I was hesitant. Change was hard and scary. I would be in the thick of things, maybe safe in a base and surrounded by Autobots and the military, but there would always be that hint of danger.

"I would be dealing with people mostly, right? No fighting?" I needed that confirmation more than anything.

Lennox shrugged. "Not if you didn't want to. There's plenty of non-combatant roles in a government agency. No real field work. Depending on what you choose to do, you might have to travel to a location, but we won't know until we start hiring people. Maybe once in a while we might ask you to speak on their behalf. Their goals, how we play in, whether or not they're going to try to enslave us. That kind of stuff."

My gaze shifted down the street, back toward my house, though it was out of sight. Was Ironhide listening in, even that far away? Telling Jazz and the others what was transpiring? Lennox was the picture of patience as I thought about my tiny town in the middle of nowhere, my dead-end job as a bank teller, and where exactly my life was headed.

Maybe I'd been avoiding change, unwilling to let go of the simple life I'd held with my parents, but that had ended the moment they'd died.

A change in my life was long overdue. Jazz wouldn't like it, he would insist that he was fine living out his days being my chauffeur so long as it meant I was safe. I could tell he was suffering, though, and I didn't want that.

Turning toward Lennox, I nodded. "Alright. . . . I guess mark me down as a 'probably'."


	22. Better Place

 

"This is some _Iron Giant_ shit right here," I muttered, taking a seat on the bumper of an old car.

The sun had finally set, but the night was covered with a thick layer of almost-storm clouds. It had rained earlier in the day, but the clouds had remained. Everything was still damp from the previous shower, and Jazz promised it would rain again, but we'd head home before that.

It was kind of nice having my own meteorologist around.

"Y'know, I coulda took ya home and done this on m'own," he said while picking up a dented car door and glancing at me.

We'd been out all day running a few errands in Billings, where I'd dropped off everything that hadn't sold in the yard sale (we didn't sell much). I hadn't even had the chance to change out of the dress I'd worn.

I said, "You spend all day in that stuffy car form. I can handle being out of the house for a day," while stretching my back.

Night was always better for us to spend some time outside of my driveway. There was a lot of open space around where I lived, giving us a lot of room to walk and talk. Whatever relieved some of his cabin fever. I could even overlook his intermittent disappearances off to missions.

Jazz passed up the car door for a small scrap of motorcycle and added it to the pile "Well at least don' look at me like tha'."

"Like what?"

"Y'know, wit' yer eyes'n stuff."

I laughed and gave him a wry smile. "Are you a nervous eater, Jazz?"

He made a sound like backfiring and pointedly snapped off the end of a pipe in his "mouth." I rolled my eyes as he said, "I ain't nervous 'bout nothin'."

Still, I pulled out my phone and busied myself with some apps while he topped off his reserves or whatever. Hanging out with me, he didn't have the access to scrap metal like the other Autobots did. Or, rather, he never stuck around long enough to take advantage of what the government provided.

So, since we were out on errands, I'd recommended finding a junk yard. We'd waited until the sun set, then snuck in.

In the meantime, I tried to make conversation while he ate. "Do you ever get bored, Jazz? Like, do you ever wish you were with all your Autobot buddies fighting Decepticons and stuff instead of sitting around with me?"

When he didn't answer right away, I frowned and looked over at him. "Jazz."

For another moment he refused to acknowledge me, finding the piece of muffler in his hand extremely interesting. Before I could get too irritated, he turned toward me and brushed the tip of a finger against my forehead. The stiches were gone, but a small scar remained. "Rather make sure Barricade can' give ya another concussion. 'Sides, I still go on missions."

"But that's a lot of travel time," I countered, pushing his finger down to pat his hand.

"Ah, it ain't no thang. I drive fast without ya and make good time."

"Well. . . ," I started, "what if you could do both? Go on missions and protect me?"

Again he hesitated. My carefully neutral smile faltered some, but he responded once his hand was back at his side. "Sounds like you got a idea?"

"What if I told you I could be your own personal shadow?"

He cocked his head to the side. "You ain't comin' wit' me on missions."

I giggled. "I didn't say anything about missions. Like, you know how Lennox came to see me when you were being repaired by Ratchet? Which, by the way, you should have let him do earlier!"

"Sure, sure. You gon' tell me what he wanted'r what?"

I'd half expected Ironhide to have heard the entire conversation and tattled, but either he really hadn't or Jazz was just good at pretending not to know anything. For a moment I reconsidered telling him in case he was mad, but it wasn't like I was going to be a combatant.

"He wants me to sign up for that, uh, special team he and some other people have been trying to get together," I said after taking a deep breath. "Offered me a job."

My fingers worried at the hem of my dress as I waited for his response. Silence. I sucked on my lower lip and glanced up at him, jumping when I realized how close his head was to me. A blush crept all the way up my neck to my face.

"What _kinda_ job?"

Shrugging, I said, "They don't know yet, they're still trying to iron out all the details. But it would be real low key, no fighting or anything like that. I'm not made for that kind of work, I'm too much of a coward to keep going into combat like in Mission City." I spoke quickly, trying not to stumble over my words while ignoring his proximity.

His scoff made me look at him. "You a lotta things, little miss. Coward ain't one of 'em." He winked and pulled back; a shiver raced up my spine and I hid how flustered I felt behind a cough.

Mistaking my chills for shivering, he gently pulled me up from the rusted car I sat on. I flatted out the skirt before he scooped me up onto his arm. He stood and started walking, holding me close to his chest and to warmth.

"What about your meal?" I asked, more comfortable now.

"Ah, I got enough t'eat. Y'know, Sam first saw Bumblebee in a junkyard," he said.

"Yeah, he's told me a few times. Least I don't have to be chased by dangerous guard dogs."

Jazz snickered. "They ain't so tough when a giant robot lurkin' around."

Smiling, I waited a few minutes and then shamelessly fished for compliments. "So, if I'm not a coward, what am I?"

He chuckled. "Well, ya little, but ya got some spunk. Nasty kickin' power, too. . .thought you was gonna kick in my dashboard when we met. Naw, you ain't no coward, you just ain't stupid. Y'know when t'run and when t'put up a fight. Y'know yer limits."

I smiled despite myself and shrugged. "If you say so. You're alright with me taking a job in this group thing, then? Since you think I'm not stupid?"

Jazz hummed in thought. "We'll see. Depends on what those guys want ya to do. If it's too dangerous, I got final say, a'ight? Ya don' gotta worry 'bout me and if I'm bored or not. Ya don' gotta worry 'bout the other Autobots, neither." He nodded in finality, his arms crossed over his chest.

A smirk tugged at the corner of my lips and I raised my eyebrows. "You're not the boss of me, Mr. Robot Man."

"Oh?" He snorted and held me up by the waist like a doll over the ground. I squealed and clung to his hand. "Well I'm bigger'n you and in charge'a ya safety, so that kinda makes me the boss'a ya."

"You gonna drop me?" I giggled.

"Don' tempt me." His fingers slackened and I squealed, grabbing his wrist.

"You wouldn't dare," I gasped.

Laughing, he pulled me back in to sit on his forearm, my back against his chest. "Naw, but I could always jus' grab ya an' lock ya in my vehicle mode. Take ya wherever I need to."

"I'll just kick in your dashboard again," I huffed while straightening my dress.

"A'ight, a'ight let's not get crazy."

With a great harrumph I said, "Okay, well, let's get going. I'm feeling hungry and the people at my house should all be gone."

Jazz turned and headed back to the road without complaint. "Ye'h, and it gon' rain again."

"That, too."

Once we reached the road, he transformed into his vehicle mode, spitting me out in the driver's seat. I let out the breath I'd held for the entire process and rolled my eyes. "You know I hate that."

 _"You say tha' but you secretly love it,"_ he teased.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever."

He retracted his convertible top, rolled down the windows, and removed the center console so I could recline across his seats with my feet up on his door. I fixed up my dress for modesty and stared up at the darkened sky. Usually the stars would be out, but the clouds would have to do.

"Isn't it going to rain?" I pointed out.

_"I'll get th'top back up before that happens."_

I nodded and folded my hands over my stomach, legs crossed at the ankles. "I'll call Lennox sometime this week and let him know that we're on board."

_"Jus' so long as he know you ain't gon' do no battle."_

"I'm sure he's well aware."

To compensate for the cold air venting from the convertible, Jazz pumped hot air into the cab so I'd stay somewhat comfortable. My favorite part of our night time drives was this, but I was disappointed that I wouldn't be able to see any stars because of the storm. All the same, I was enjoying our ride home.

"Jazz?" I murmured. I had almost drifted off to sleep—might have, if it wasn't for the roaring wind over my head.

_"Sup, little miss?"_

"I'm not saying I'm _glad_ you kidnapped me, but. . .I'm glad you kidnapped me."

He chuckled dryly. _"You glad I almost got ya killed a bunch of times?"_

"No," I said, rolling my eyes. "I mean, I couldn't have met you and learned that we weren't alone in the universe if it wasn't for that. Maybe if Dad had let Sector Seven recruit me, but then I might have been a complete power-hungry tool."

_"Your dad wasn't."_

"That I know about. And I'd rather keep it that way. I kind of want to know what he did, but. . .I don't want it to turn out he was like. . .like that awful Simmons guy," I sighed. The first drop of rain landed on my forehead and I pulled my legs back in the car so Jazz could close up.

For a moment Jazz was silent before making an offer. _"We could find out for ya. S7's disbanded, so it should be easy to hack some files."_

It was enticing, but I had my reservations. "I don't know. . . . I love my dad. I don't want to think of him as anything but. . . . My Dad, y'know? The one who raised me and went to my shitty cheerleading practices and choir recitals. Not some. . .government stooge who picked on the little guy."

_"I gotcha. I'll poke 'round, see what I see. What if I only tell ya what his job was, nothin' else? Knowin' his title won' ruin his image for ya, will it?"_

I mulled it over and shrugged. "Yeah, sure. I guess that would be okay."

_"A'ight, I'm on it. An' Kat?"_

"What?"

 _"I'm glad we got t'meet, too,"_ he said, eliciting a shy smile from me.

*:･ﾟ✧

The sun hung bright in the sky, glinting off of Jazz' mirror and momentarily blinding me as I climbed out of the driver's seat. I took a deep breath and used my hip to shut the car door. His trunk popped open as I scurried around the back, lifting my sunglasses to the top of my head.

 _"Relax,_ " his voice said from the trunk. I jumped and looked around, but there was no one within earshot. _"You don' gotta be so nervous. Th' base's only a few miles away."_

I rolled my eyes and pulled some of my bags out. "We talked about you scanning me, Jazz."

_"You a open book, little miss. Ain't gotta scan ya t'know when you nervous."_

For a moment I busied myself with looking through one of my bags so I had an excuse to stand by an open trunk. "Well, I'm not nervous about what you think. It's just. . .been a really long time since I was in school, is all."

He rocked and I tried without success to hold him still. _"We already went over this. You a smart girl. You'll be okay."_

"What if I fail my classes? Lennox'll never let me into his super-secret club."

A sorry attempt at humor.

_"Naw, you got this. It ain't gon' be that long, right?"_

Finally, I pulled the last of my bags from the trunk. I'd miscalculated how heavy clothes and towels and school supplies and other miscellanea would be. The walk up those two flights was going to be kind of difficult.

Maybe I'd have Jazz sneak them through my window at night.

 _Yeah, right._ I'd just end up worrying that my roommate, whoever they might be, would wind up catching us in the act.

"It's like an eighteen-month course or something," I admitted.

Jazz replied, _"See? It'll be over before ya know it."_

His words helped a little, but I could still feel the stone sitting in my stomach. A major in finance didn't sound like a glamorous degree, but it was better than sitting in an empty house, waiting for it to sell. Better than working as a bank teller for the rest of my life. Jennifer could handle selling the house on her own: it was her job.

For now, I'd stay in California and earn my Associate's degree—something to give me a head start in the field Lennox and I had decided on. If I wanted, I could pursue a Bachelor's or a Master's while I worked for them.

It was all well and good, but I didn't think I'd be able to juggle school, foreign claims, and a needy man-bot child on top of any personal time I could steal away.

Any higher education would have to wait.

An Associate's would be fine, anyway. Most of my job would be spent working with at least one other person who was already versed in foreign claims. The powers that be had insisted I have some form of schooling outside of my bank career, and I had an insurance class I'd have to take. There was some sort of test I had to take to be certified.

And it was all supposed to be crammed in as fast as possible. Otherwise, Jazz wasn't leaving the mainland without me.

More stress piled on top of my plate, but it would be worth it. I'd be working alongside Jazz.

I'd be doing something without getting in the way.

"Yeah," I sighed. I picked up what I could carry in one trip and shouldered the bags. "It probably will, but man. . .it's been years since I had to worry about homework."

Jazz rumbled in amusement. _"I'll make sure you do it all."_

Before I could reply, a group walked by right next to us and I had to stare at the piece of paper in my hand with my dorm number until they went away. "How're you gonna make sure I do all my homework, huh?"

_"I'll sit on ya 'till ya do it."_

I muffled a laugh behind my hand. Shaking my head, I let my fingers trail over his roof as I headed toward the stairs. "Whatever you say. I'm going to go get settled in. Watch my stuff till I come back for it please?"

_"Sho thang."_

"And we gotta find an easier way to talk without me looking insane."

_"I'll get the tech guys on it."_

The bags were getting heavy but I had one more question I wanted to ask, and I didn't want to wait until I came back down because who knew who would be hanging around. "We're still on for tonight, right?"

_"Wouldn' miss it."_

Smiling, I did my best to haul half of my belongings up the stairs. There weren't many drive-in movie theaters left, but there was one twenty minutes (if I let Jazz go as fast as he wanted) away, and I'd been dying to see the new summer blockbuster that started a week prior.

Sitting alone in a movie theater wasn't desirable, and Jazz was the only one I knew in California. It would be nice to share in some media together.

Whoever my roommate was, she wasn't in the dorm. However, one of the beds was already claimed so I dumped my bags on the other bed and hurried back down the stairs to gather the rest of my stuff. The movie was still hours away, but I was still so excited, eager, and anxious at the same time.

Almost as if we were going on a _date_.

I giggled at the thought and jumped the last two steps. Closer to Jazz, I could hear his engine idling but I didn't remember leaving it running.

 _"Get in_ ," he said, giddy about something.

"But my bags—"

_"Load 'em up and let's go!"_

Had he not sounded so damn excited I might have been concerned. As it was, I sighed and put the bags back in his trunk and climbed in. He tore off immediately and I braced in my seat, then put on my seatbelt.

"Where're you going in such a hurry?" I asked.

Jazz said, _"T'base! Got a visitor en route with Prime'n I wantcha t'meet 'im."_

"A new Autobot?"

He took a corner too fast and I was thrown against my seatbelt, but I didn't complain. _"Ye'h! They startin' to show up,"_ he explained.

"It's only been like, a month since Optimus sent that signal though, hasn't it?"

Jazz chuckled. _"We mastered interstellar travel, little miss."_

"Right. . . ."

It didn't take long for the super-excited Jazz to make it to the base. However, as it came into view, I found myself with doubt.

"Jazz, am I even allowed on base yet? I don't have any clearance or—"

 _"Naw,"_ he cut me off. _"You my plus one."_

"But I don't want to get in trouble!"

_"You won't! I will."_

I groaned and rolled my eyes. "I don't want _you_ to get in trouble, either!"

_"Aw, what's ya gov'ment gon' do? Fire me? I'd like to see that."_

"What about Optimus? He could bench you. Or they could fire _me_!"

Though he started to make a retort, Jazz's voice died and he rolled to a stop outside the military base. I sighed with relief and slouched in my chair. I pat his dashboard and said, "I know you're excited, Jazz, and I want to meet your friends as much as you want to me to meet them, but I'll be able to! Once I have the clearance. We can do all the introductions at once, okay?"

His idle turned rough and he didn't say anything. I took it for pouting and gave him a reassuring smile and another pat. "I know you want to see your friends, so go drop me back at the dorm and come see them, okay?"

With a great heave, Jazz turned around and hurried back toward the school. _"A'ight, sure. Maybe I c'n convince 'em t'come meetcha."_

"Sure. But, don't worry about the movie. I'm sure you haven't seen this Autobot in a while," I offered. I didn't know who this Autobot was, but if Jazz was excited about their arrival, they must have been a good friend.

_"Wha? No way!"_

I waved errantly and said, "We can go tomorrow night."

 _"Nuh-uh. We gon' go tonight like I said. Y'start school Monday so you can' be up all night tomorrow. There's no way I'm gon' flake on ya,"_ he huffed.

"Okay, alright. Sorry for even suggesting it."

As we agreed, he dropped me off at the dorm again and I made the trip up to my room with my remaining things. Once my bags were all on my bed, I scurried to the window and waved down at Jazz, who still sat in the parking lot. His hologram fizzled to life and waved back before he left.

When he was out of sight, I rolled my eyes and shook my head. "Wish he wouldn't do that," I muttered to myself.

While I stared at my bags and the daunting task of unpacking, I almost wished I hadn't talked him out of taking me to meet the new arrival. All the same, I sat down at the edge of my bed and started pulling things out to decide where to put them.

Still, I couldn't help the smile that seemed permanently plastered to my face. Today was the first day of my new life.

Everyone at work had been happy for me when I told them. I'd given my two weeks' notice and at first they'd been sad to see me go, but once I told them I was going to school and moving to a different state, they'd been excited. Glad that I wasn't letting my parent's death stop me from moving on. Stop me from living my life.

If I was being honest, I was too glad to leave that one-horse town. No more worrying about the neighbor's gossiping all the time. I'd already removed half of them from Facebook on the drive over, now that they couldn't come and knock down my door for it.

I'd have to make time to visit every now and again, if only to see my parents' graves. I doubted they'd be at a loss for visitors, though. Not in Park City.

But I was happy. Happy that I'd been given the opportunity to stay with Jazz.

To help.

To be something.

Thinking about it filled me with determination, and when I was finished with unpacking, I set out to my fancy new laptop—scanned forty billion times to make sure it wasn't a Decepticon in hiding—and doing a bit of prep work.

I'd make Jazz proud.


	23. Epilogue

The freighter made careful but quick progress across the calm sea. For a change of pace, the horizon was clear and our ride was smooth. No storms to be seen for miles, only bright blue sky and warm sun. On such an occasion everyone not integral to the ship's smooth sailing were on deck watching the waves or playing a pick-up game of basketball—shirts versus skins.

"It's the middle of the ocean, why can't you change?" I whined.

Only a few Autobots needed to be moved via the ship; Optimus was already on the island of Diego Garcia, where the NEST base had been established. He had to herald the arrival of the newer Autobots to arrive on Earth. The only ones left to transfer were Jazz, Ironhide, Ratchet, Lennox and a handful of his crew.

Our departure had been delayed for a while, though the base had been ready for some time. Decepticon hostages had been found, and it had taken Lennox's team a while to debrief them and glean some sort of context from their capture.

Though I hadn't met any of them, it had taken quite a bit of Jazz' time while I was at school. He'd told me some stories, but kept a lot of the details under wraps. One of the former hostages had given them quite a hard time. At the very least, he'd told me that the important bit was that the Decepticons were trying to find a way to revive their leader.

But now we were on our way to the new base in Diego Garcia. I sat comfortably on Jazz' hood, my feet braced against the guardrail as the two of us watched the spanning ocean.

_"Somethin' 'bout cruises an' random fishin' boats. Just all the safer."_

"It's stupid," I muttered, leaning against my knees. "Can you even see the ocean like this? I feel like I'm blocking your view."

_"Naw, I c'n see just fine little miss."_

Sighing, I reclined until my back was against his windshield and stared up at the lazy clouds drifting above us, my hands folded against my stomach. Despite the warm sun, the breeze wafting over the water was chilly. I could imagine most of the wind was from moving so fast, though I wasn't sure how quick the freighter was.

"Whatever you say," I muttered.

Something happened behind us, causing a raucous shouting match from the impromptu basketball court. I rolled to peer around Jazz. Lennox from team Shirts and Epps from team Skins were exchanging taunts and shoves, but I missed who had just scored. I briefly mused over the relationship men had with one another before rolling back to stare at the sky.

"What's the score?"

_"Lennox's team ahead by two points."_

"That explains it."

Besides the occasional jeer or shout from the court, we fell into silence, listening to the crash of the waves against the hull. It had been hours since I'd seen a dolphin trying to race us, and we'd long since left behind the birds.

"Are we there yet?"

_"Ye'h, jump on out."_

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" I grinned and slapped his hood, making him shake.

_"'Ey, I'll toss ya overboard."_

Rolling my eyes, I sat up and turned to face his windshield. I lifted my arms up and said, "Alright, well here's your chance. Let's see you toss me overboard."

His engine roared to life and he jerked forward just enough to make me shift on top of him and I instantly threw myself forward, grabbing hold of one of his windshield wipers. My heart jumped to my throat and I remained prone for a moment, gasping.

He shook with laughter and I slowly propped myself up, looking around.

This time, when I smacked him, I did it hard enough to hurt my hand. "Jazz!" I hissed, glaring daggers into the empty seats through the windshield.

_"What?"_

"That was _not_ funny!"

As I slid off his hood onto the solid deck, he chuckled and said, _"Aw c'mon, it was a_ little _funny. 'Sides, I wouldn'a done it!"_

My shoes were nearby and I slipped them on so I didn't have to endure the piping hot deck on the soles of my poor feet. I turned to face Jazz, my arms crossed over my chest. I mustered the most convincing look of indignation I could.

_"Aw don' be like that."_

Though I held out as long as I could, I eventually let out the breath I was holding and shook my head. "Still scared the shit out of me."

_"Wouldn'a been funny if I hadn't."_

"You're a jerk sometimes."

He chuckled again and I pat the roof of his vehicle form before heading toward the door leading to the inner section of the freighter.

 _"Where y'going?"_ Jazz asked. His voice radiated outward from his radio.

"Below deck. I'm not like you. I can feel my skin shriveling up so I need to put on some more sunscreen. I'll be back." I glanced over my shoulder and waved at him before moving to skirt around the ongoing game between the soldiers.

Ahead of me, a group marched toward us, guns propped and shouldered.

Seeing men with guns on the ship was not out of place. Soldiers were everywhere, but I knew by sight alone that the ones coming from the other end of the freighter did not belong.

The soldiers I'd grown accustomed to wore their usual uniform, but these men were wearing dark, drab clothes that had seen better days. They were scrawny and wore bullet-proof vests, but they didn't look professional.

They weren't supposed to be here.

I backed up just as the first line of men came upon a few of our NEST operatives. Their commands startled our men, but they complied without a fight. Once the shock wore off, some of them even had the nerve to laugh.

"Hey!" a heavily accented voice called, drawing my attention. "Freeze!"

For a second I thought about complying, but I was closer to Jazz and letting myself be captured was more unappealing than another concussion. I took a step back, then sprinted or my guardian.

"Hey! I said stop!" The demand was followed by a few warning shots that made me scream.

His door was already open and waiting by the time I reached him and I dove into the driver's seat, tucking my legs in just as he slammed the door shut. My heart was beating a mile a minute, and I forced myself to calm down. Even if they had guns, there were plenty of soldiers around and Jazz' exterior would block any bullets.

 _"Oh, they gon get it. . .shoot at my human. . . ."_ Jazz grumbled.

"Who are these guys?" I panted, peering out the windows as the strange men rounded up Lennox and his crew. Everyone went down on their knees easily, hands on their heads. Even from my vantage point, I could tell they weren't taking this seriously.

And there I was, cowering inside Jazz. Guns were guns, and I'd already been shot at. This was supposed to be an easy trip. I'd rather be in Jazz than out on my knees in the hot sun.

_"Dunno. Quick search on th'internet says pirates."_

A scoff was the best reply I could manage.

We were being boarded by pirates. Of all the terrible luck, they had chosen _us_ to board over any other ship they might have come across.

Terrible luck for _them_.

"They shot at me," I harrumphed. I spoke quietly, as if afraid that talking normal would draw their attention to me. Not that it mattered: the one who'd done the shooting was walking toward us.

_"They gon' regret it, just need t'com Optimus and get the go-ahead."_

What I assumed to be the leader of the pirates was relieving Lennox and Epps and the others of their belongings. I couldn't hear very well from inside Jazz, but I could tell from the looks on their faces that Mr. Pirate Captain was not happy with their blasé attitudes.

Lennox shook his head, finally refusing the pirates something. They exchanged words, and then the pirate captain turned toward the spot Ironhide and Ratchet were parked. He motioned toward the trucks and spoke with Lennox, but it was Epps who spoke next. Whatever he said, the captain moved toward the truck.

"Sir," the pirate stationed outside Jazz called. He nodded toward us and I squeaked before ducking down. It wasn't like they didn't already know I was there, but it was still the first thing I could think to do.

The captain walked up and shouted through the window. "You in there! Come out now." It was heavily accented, and I wondered where they learned English.

_"You stay right here, little miss."_

I exhaled through my clenched teeth. "You don't have to tell me that."

It was Lennox's voice I heard next, faint and far away as it was. Had he not been shouting, I might not have heard him at all. "Hey, leave her alone. I'll get her out of there later."

Mr. Pirate Captain glared down at me and I watched him, frozen in my seat and trembling. However, after a moment, he adopted a more relaxed posture and shrugged. "Alright. We will come back to her." With that, he turned and walked back toward Ironhide. My muscles turned to pudding and I slumped in my seat.

"Thought they were going to shoot at me again."

 _"His weapon ain't enough to pierce my armor,_ " Jazz assured me.

"Still," I mumbled, "I don't want to be shot at."

Jazz rumbled a second later and I could hear the smirk in his voice when he spoke. _"They in for it now. Optimus gave us permission."_

"For what?"

My answer came in the form of a familiar sound and terrified shouts. I sat up straighter and looked around for the source and found Ironhide towering above the fearful pirates. He didn't have to do much before they dropped their weapons and ran for it.

They had nowhere to go but overboard, and they gladly jumped for it.

 _"Feh. I'd hoped for a bit more than that,"_ Jazz complained. _"Got off easy. . . ."_

Ironhide walked to the edge of the freighter and checked the drink, and the rest of the soldiers stood from their positions. Some walked off to check the rest of the ship for stragglers. I crawled out of Jazz and he transformed, kneeling by my side.

"You okay?" he asked.

I crossed my arms over my chest in contempt. "They shot at me."

"They wasn't aimin' at ya, though. You a'ight, you been through worse."

"Yeah I know," I sighed. "I just don't like it."

He chuckled and transformed back into his car mode at the same time Ironhide did. Lennox joined us and put a hand on my shoulder. "Well, that was eventful. If you ask me, you should have just done what they said and let them sit you with us."

Shame-faced, I lowered my head. "I panicked and ran to Jazz, sorry."

Lennox smiled and said, "It's not a big deal, Ms. Walker. They wanted our stuff, not our lives. Can't negotiate if you kill off hostages."

Somehow I managed to smile back at him and he headed back to the court.

"Epps! Where's the ball? I was about to beat you."

"Like hell you were!"

Business as usual. I picked up where I'd left off as well and headed back below deck to my quarters so I could grab my sunscreen. It was just one bump in our otherwise smooth sail, but if I was going to be hanging out with the Autobots, I'd have to realize that things were going to get a little bumpy from time to time.

So long as I was with Jazz, I could handle it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, readers!
> 
> I've been working on something - original content! I made a patreon to help with my project, so head over there at /kaylanhodge to learn more! Don't worry, fanfiction will still continue to be posted on the usual (ir)regular schedule!
> 
> ~ Crayola


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